A    MAN'S    WOMAN 


A  MAN'S  WOMAN 


(By  FRANK    NORRIS 

=  AUTHOR    OF  ===== 
"BLIX,"   "McTEAGUE,"  etc: 


NEW  YORK 

GROSSET    &    DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  iSgg.igoo,  BY 
DOUBLEDAY  &  McCLURE  CO. 


to 

DR.  ALBERT  J.  HOUSTON 


The  following  novel  was  completed  March  22,  1899,  and  sent 
to  the  printer  in  October  of  the  same  year.  After  the  plates  had 
been  made  notice  was  received  that  a  play  called  "  A  Man's 
Woman  "  had  been  written  by  Anne  Crawford  Flexner,  and  that 
this  title  had  been  copyrighted. 

As  it  was  impossible  to  change  the  name  of  the  novel  at  the 
time  this  notice  was  received,  it  has  been  published  under  its 
original  title. 

F.  N. 
NEW  YORK. 


A  MAN'S  WOMAN 


i. 


At  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  everybody  in  the 
tent  was  still  asleep,  exhausted  by  the  terrible  march 
of  the  previous  day.  The  hummocky  ice  and  pres- 
sure-ridges that  Bennett  had  foreseen  had  at  last 
been  met  with,  and,  though  camp  had  been  broken 
at  six  o'clock  and  though  men  and  dogs  had  hauled 
and  tugged  and  wrestled  with  the  heavy  sledges 
until  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  only  a  mile  and 
a  half  had  been  covered.  But  though  the  progress 
was  slow,  it  was  yet  progress.  It  was  not  the  har- 
rowing, heart-breaking  immobility  of  those  long 
months  aboard  the  Freja.  Every  yard  to  the  south- 
ward, though  won  at  the  expense  of  a  battle  with  the 
ice,  brought  them  nearer  to  Wrangel  Island  and 
ultimate  safety. 

Then,  too,  at  supper-time  the  unexpected  had 
happened.  Bennett,  moved  no  doubt  by  their  weak- 
ened condition,  had  dealt  out  extra  rations  to  each 
man :  one  and  two-thirds  ounces  of  butter  and  six 
and  two-thirds  ounces  of  aleuronate  bread — a  veri- 
table luxury  after  the  unvarying  diet  of  pemmican, 
lime  juice,  and  dried  potatoes  of  the  past  fortnight. 
The  men  had  got  into  their  sleeping-bags  early,  and 


A  Man's  Woman 

until  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  had  slept  pro- 
foundly, inert,  stupefied,  almost  without  movement. 
But  a  few  minutes  after  four  o'clock  Bennett  awoke. 
He  was  usually  up  about  half  an  hour  before  the 
others.  On  the  day  before  he  had  been  able  to  get 
a  meridian  altitude  of  the  sun,  and  was  anxious  to 
complete  his  calculations  as  to  the  expedition's  posi- 
tion on  the  chart  that  he  had  begun  in  the  evening. 

He  pushed  back  the  flap  of  the  sleeping-bag  and 
rose  to  his  full  height,  passing  his  hands  over  his 
face,  rubbing  the  sleep  from  his  eyes.  He  was  an 
enormous  man,  standing  six  feet  two  inches  in  his 
reindeer  footnips  and  having  the  look  more  of  a 
prize-fighter  than  of  a  scientist.  Even  making  allow- 
ances for  its  coating  of  dirt  and  its  harsh,  black  stub- 
ble of  half  a  week's  growth,  the  face  was  not  pleas- 
ant. Bennett  was  an  ugly  man.  His  lower  jaw 
was  huge  almost  to  deformity,  like  that  of  the  bull- 
dog, the  chin  salient,  the  mouth  close-gripped,  with 
great  lips,  indomitable,  brutal.  The  forehead  was 
contracted  and  small,  the  forehead  of  men  of  single 
ideas,  and  the  eyes,  too,  were  small  and  twinkling, 
one  of  them  marred  by  a  sharply  defined  cast.1* 

But  as  Bennett  was  fumbling  in  the  tin  box  that 
was  lashed  upon  the  number  four  sledge,  looking  for 
his  notebook  wherein  he  had  begun  his  calculations 
for  latitude,  he  was  surprised  to  find  a  copy  of  the 
record  he  had  left  in  the  instrument  box  under  the 
cairn  at  Cape  Kamenni  at  the  beginning  of  this 
southerly  march.  He  had  supposed  that  this  copy 
had  been  mislaid,  and  was  not  a  little  relieved  to 
come  across  it  now.  He  read  it  through  hastily,  his 
mind  reviewing  again  the  incidents  of  the  last  few 

3 


A  Man's  Woman 

months.     Certain  extracts  of  this  record  ran  as  fol- 
lows: 

Arctic  steamer  Freja,  on  ice  off  Cape  Kamenni,  New 
Siberian  Islands,  76  deg.  10  min.  north  latitude,  150  deg. 
40  min.  »ast  longitude,  July  12,  1891.  .  .  .  We  accord- 
ingly froz°  the  ship  in  on  the  last  day  of  September,  1890, 
and  during'  the  following  winter  drifted  with  the  pack  in 
a  northwesterly  direction.  .  .  .  On  Friday,  July  10, 
1891,  being  in  latitude  76  deg.  10  min.  north;  longitude 
150  deg.  10  min.  east,  the  Freja  was  caught  in  a  severe 
nip  between  two  floes  and  was  crushed,  sinking  in  about 
two  hours.  We  abandoned  her,  saving  200  days'  pro- 
visions and  all  necessary  clothing,  instruments,  etc.  .  .  . 

I  shall  now  attempt  a  southerly  march  over  the  ice  to 
Kolyuchin  Bay  by  way  of  Wrangel  Island,  where  pro- 
visions have  been  cached,  hoping  to  fall  in  with  the  relief 
ships  or  steam  whalers  on  the  way.  Our  party  consists 
of  the  following  twelve  persons:  .  .  .  All  well  with 
the  exception  of  Mr.  Ferriss,  the  chief  engineer,  whose 
left  hand  has  been  badly  frostbitten.  No  scurvy  in  the 
party  as  yet.  We  have  eighteen  Ostiak  dogs  with  us  in 
prime  condition,  and  expect  to  drag  our  ship's  boat  upon 
sledges. 

WARD    BENNETT, 
Commanding  Freja  Arctic  Exploring  Expedition. 

Bennett  returned  this  copy  of  the  record  to  its 
place  in  the  box,  and  stood  for  a  moment  in  the 
centre  of  the  tent,  his  head  bent  to  avoid  the  ridge- 
pole, looking  thoughtfully  upon  the  ground. 

Well,  so  far  all  had  gone  right — no  scurvy,  pro- 
visions in  plenty.  The  dogs  were  in  good  condition, 
his  men  cheerful,  trusting  in  him  as  in  a  god,  and 
surely  no  leader  could  wish  for.  a  better  lieutenant 
and  comrade  than  Richard  Ferriss — but  this  hum- 
fliocky  ice — these  pressure-ridges  which  the  expedi- 


A  Man's  Woman 

tion  had  met  the  day  before.  Instead  of  turning 
at  once  to  his  ciphering  Bennett  drew  the  hood  of 
the  wolfskin  coat  over  his  head,  buttoned  a  red 
flannel  mask  across  his  face,  and,  raising  the  flap 
of  the  tent,  stepped  outside. 

Under  the  lee  of  the  tent  the  dogs  were  sleeping, 
moveless  bundles  of  fur,  black  and  white,  percep- 
tibly steaming.  The  three  great  McClintock 
sledges,  weighted  down  with  the  Freja's  boats  and 
with  the  expedition's  impedimenta,  lay  where  they 
had  been  halted  the  evening  before. 

In  the  sky  directly  in  front  of  Bennett  as  he  issued 
from  the  tent  three  moons,  hooped  in  a  vast  circle 
of  nebulous  light,  shone  roseate  through  a  fine  mist, 
while  in  the  western  heavens  streamers  of  green, 
orange,  and  vermilion  light,  immeasurably  vast, 
were  shooting  noiselessly  from  horizon  to  zenith. 

But  Bennett  had  more  on  his  mind  that  morning 
than  mock-moons  and  auroras.  To  the  south  and 
east,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  tent,  the 
pressure  of  the  floes  had  thrown  up  an  enormous 
ridge  of  shattered  ice-cakes,  a  mound,  a  long  hill 
of  blue-green  slabs  and  blocks  huddling  together 
at  every  conceivable  angle.  It  was  nearly  twenty 
feet  in  height,  quite  the  highest  point  that  Bennett 
could  discover.  Scrambling  and  climbing  over 
countless  other  ridges  that  intervened,  he  made  his 
way  to  it,  ascended  it  almost  on  hands  and  knees, 
and,  standing  upon  its  highest  point,  looked  long 
and  carefully  to  the  southward. 

A  wilderness  beyond  all  thought,  words,  or  imagi- 
nation desolate  stretched  out  before  him  there  for- 
ever and  forever — ice,  ice,  ice,  fields  and  floes  of  ice, 
4 


A  Man's  Woman 

laying  themselves  out  under  that  gloomy  sky,  league 
after  league,  endless,  sombre,  infinitely  vast,  infi- 
nitely formidable.  But  now  it  was  no  longer  the 
smooth  ice  over  which  the  expedition  had  for  so 
long  been  travelling.  In  every  direction,  inter- 
secting one  another  at  ten  thousand  points,  crossing 
and  recrossing,  weaving  a  gigantic,  bewildering 
network  of  gashed,  jagged,  splintered  ice-blocks, 
ran  the  pressure-ridges  and  hummocks.  In  places 
a  score  or  more  of  these  ridges  had  been  wedged  to- 
gether to  form  one  huge  field  of  broken  slabs  of  ice 
miles  in  width,  miles  in  length.  From  horizon  to 
horizon  there  was  no  level  place,  no  open  water,  no 
pathway.  The  view  to  the  southward  resembled  a 
tempest-tossed  ocean  suddenly  frozen. 

One  of  these  ridges  Bennett  had  just  climbed, 
and  upon  it  he  now  stood.  Even  for  him,  unen- 
cumbered, carrying  no  weight,  the  climb  had  been 
difficult ;  more  than  once  he  had  slipped  and  fallen. 
At  times  he  had  been  obliged  to  go  forward  almost 
on  his  hands  and  knees.  And  yet  it  was  across  that 
jungle  of  ice,  that  unspeakable  tangle  of  blue-green 
slabs  and  cakes  and  blocks,  that  the  expedition  must 
now  advance,  dragging  its  boats,  its  sledges,  its 
provisions,  instruments,  and  baggage. 

Bennett  stood  looking.  Before  him  lay  his  task. 
There  under  his  eyes  was  the  Enemy.  Face  to  face 
with  him  was  the  titanic  primal  strength  of  a  chaotic 
world,  the  stupendous  still  force  of  a  merciless  na- 
ture, waiting  calmly,  waiting  silently^'to  close  upon 
and  crush  him.'j  For  a  long  time  he  stood  watch- 
ing. Then  the  great  brutal  jaw  grew  more  salient 
than  ever,  the  teeth  set  and  clenched  behind  the 
5 


A  Man's  Woman 

close-gripped  lips,  the  cast  in  the  small  twinkling 
eyes  grew  suddenly  more  pronounced.  One  huge 
fist  raised,  and  the  arm  slowly  extended  forward  like 
the  resistless  moving  of  a  piston.  Then  when  his 
arm  was  at  its  full  reach  Bennett  spoke  as  though  in 
answer  to  the  voiceless,  terrible  challenge  of  the  Ice. 
Through  his  clenched  teeth  his  words  came  slow 
and  measured. 

"  But  I'll  break  you,  by  God !  believe  me,  I  will." 

After  a  while  he  returned  to  the  tent,  awoke  the 
cook,  and  while  breakfast  was  being  prepared  com- 
pleted his  calculations  for  latitude,  wrote  up  his  ice- 
journal,  and  noted  down  the  temperature  and  the 
direction  and  velocity  of  the  wind.  As  he  was  fin- 
ishing, Richard  Ferriss,  who  was  the  chief  engineer 
and  second  in  command,  awoke  and  immediately 
asked  the  latitude. 

"  Seventy-four-fifteen,"  answered  Bennett  with- 
out looking  up. 

"  Seventy-four-fifteen,"  repeated  Ferriss,  nodding 
his  head ;  "  we  didn't  make  much  distance  yester- 
day." 

"  I  hope  we  can  make  as  much  to-day,"  returned 
Bennett  grimly  as  he  put  away  his  observation- 
journal  and  notebooks. 

"  How's  the  ice  to  the  south'ard  ?  " 

"  Bad ;  wake  the  men." 

After  breakfast  and  while  the  McClintocks  were 
being  loaded  Bennett  sent  Ferriss  on  ahead  to  choose 
a  road  through  and  over  the  ridges.  It  was  dread- 
ful work.  For  two  hours  Ferriss  wandered  about 
amid  the  broken  ice  all  but  hopelessly  bewildered. 
But  at  length,  to  his  great  satisfaction,  he  beheld  a 
6 


A  Man's  Woman 

fairly  open  stretch  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in 
length  lying  out  to  the  southwest  and  not  too  far 
out  of  the  expedition's  line  of  march.  Some  dozen 
ridges  would  have  to  be  crossed  before  this  level 
was  reached ;  but  there  was  no  help  for  it,  so  Ferriss 
planted  his  flags  where  the  heaps  of  ice-blocks 
seemed  least  impracticable  and  returned  toward  the 
camp.  It  had  already  been  broken,  and  on  his  way 
he  met  the  entire  expedition  involved  in  the  in- 
tricacies of  the  first  rough  ice. 

All  of  the  eighteen  dogs  had  been  harnessed  to 
the  number  two  sledge,  that  carried  the  whaleboat 
and  the  major  part  of  the  provisions,  and  every  man 
of  the  party,  Bennett  included,  was  straining  at  the 
haul-ropes  with  the  dogs.  Foot  by  foot  the  sledge 
came  over  the  ridge,  grinding  and  lurching  among 
the  ice-blocks ;  then,  partly  by  guiding,  partly  by 
lifting,  it  was  piloted  down  the  slope,  only  in  the 
end  to  escape  from  all  control  and  come  crashing 
downward  among  the  dogs,  jolting  one  of  the 
medicine  chests  from  its  lashings  and  butting  its 
nose  heavily  against  the  foot  of  the  next  hummock 
immediately  beyond.  But  the  men  scrambled  to 
their  places  again,  the  medicine  chest  was  replaced, 
and  Muck  Tu,  the  Esquimau  dog-master,  whipped 
forward  his  dogs.  Ferriss,  too,  laid  hold.  The  next 
hummock  was  surmounted,  the  dogs  panting,  and 
the  men,  even  in  that  icy  air,  reeking  with  perspira- 
tion. Then  suddenly  and  without  the  least  warning 
Bennett  and  McPherson,  who  were  in  the  lead, 
broke  through  some  young  ice  into  water  up  to  their 
breasts,  Muck  Tu  and  one  of  the  dogs  breaking 
through  immediately  afterward.  The  men  were 
7 


A  Man's  Woman 

pulled  out,  or,  of  their  own  efforts,  climbed  upon 
the  ice  again.  But  in  an  instant  their  clothes  were 
frozen  to  rattling  armor. 

"Bear  off  to  the  east'ard,  here !"  commanded  Ben- 
nett, shaking  the  icy,  stinging  water  from  his 
sleeves.  "  Everybody  on  the  ropes  now !  " 

Another  pressure-ridge  was  surmounted,  then 
a  third,  and  by  an  hour  after  the  start  they  had  ar- 
rived at  the  first  one  of  Ferriss's  flags.  Here  the 
number  two  sledge  was  left,  and  the  entire  expedi- 
tion, dogs  and  men,  returned  to  camp  to  bring  up 
the  number  one  McClintock  loaded  with  the  Freja's 
cutter  and  with  the  sleeping-bags,  instruments,  and 
tent.  This  sledge  was  successfully  dragged  over 
the  first  two  hummocks,  but  as  it  was  being  hauled 
up  the  third  its  left-hand  runner  suddenly  buckled 
and  turned  under  it  with  a  loud  snap.  There  was 
nothing  for  it  now  but  to  remove  the  entire  load  and 
to  set  Hawes,  the  carpenter,  to  work  upon  its  repair. 

"  Up  your  other  sledge !  "  ordered  Bennett. 

Once  more  the  expedition  returned  to  the  morn- 
ing's camping-place,  and,  harnessing  itself  to  the 
third  McClintock,  struggled  forward  with  it  for  an 
hour  and  a  half  until  it  was  up  with  the  first  sledge 
and  Ferriss's  flag.  Fortunately  the  two  dog-sleds, 
four  and  five,  were  light,  and  Bennett,  dividing  his 
forces,  brought  them  up  in  a  single  haul.  But 
Hawes  called  out  that  the  broken  sledge  was  now 
repaired.  The  men  turned  to  at  once,  reloaded 
it,  and  hauled  it  onward,  so  that  by  noon  every 
sledge  had  been  moved  forward  quite  a  quarter  of  a 
mile. 

But  now,  for  the  moment,  the  men,  after  going 


A  Man's  Woman 

over  the  same  ground  seven  times,  were  used  up, 
and  Muck  Tu  could  no  longer  whip  the  dogs  to 
their  work.  Bennett  called  a  halt.  Hot  tea  was 
made,  and  pemmican  and  hardtack  served  out. 

"  We'll  have  easier  hauling  this  afternoon,  men," 
said  Bennett ;  "  this  next  ridge  is  the  worst  of  the 
lot;  beyond  that  Mr.  Ferriss  says  we've  got  nearly 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  level  floes." 

On  again  at  one  o'clock;  but  the  hummock  of 
which  Bennett  had  spoken  proved  absolutely  im- 
passable for  the  loaded  sledges.  It  was  all  one  that 
the  men  lay  to  the  ropes  like  draught-horses,  and 
that  Muck  Tu  flogged  the  dogs  till  the  goad  broke 
in  his  hands.  The  men  lost  their  footing  upon  the 
slippery  ice  and  fell  to  their  knees ;  the  dogs  laid 
down  in  the  traces  groaning  and  whining.  The 
sledge  would  not  move. 

"  Unload  !  "  commanded  Bennett. 

The  lashings  were  taken  off,  and  the  loads,  includ- 
ing the  great,  cumbersome  whaleboat  itself,  carried 
over  the  hummock  by  hand.  Then  the  sledge  itself 
was  hauled  over  and  reloaded  upon  the  other  side. 
Thus  the  whole  five  sledges. 

The  work  was  bitter  hard ;  the  knots  of  the  lash- 
ings were  frozen  tight  and  coated  with  ice ;  the  cases 
of  provisions,  the  medicine  chests,  the  canvas  bundle 
of  sails,  boat-covers,  and  tents  unwieldy  and  of  enor- 
mous weight;  the  footing  on  the  slippery,  uneven 
ice  precarious,  and  more  than  once  a  man,  stagger- 
ing under  his  load,  broke  through  the  crust  into 
water  so  cold  that  the  sensation  was  like  that  of 
burning. 

But  at  last  everything  was  over,  the  sledges  re- 
9 


A  Man's  Woman 

loaded,  and  the  forward  movement  resumed.  Only 
one  low  hummock  now  intervened  between  them 
and  the  longed-for  level  floe. 

However,  as  they  were  about  to  start  forward 
again  a  lamentable  gigantic  sound  began  vibrating 
in  their  ears,  a  rumbling,  groaning  note  rising  by 
quick  degrees  to  a  strident  shriek.  Other  sounds, 
hollow  and  shrill — treble  mingling  with  diapason — 
joined  in  the  first.  The  noise  came  from  just  be- 
yond the  pressure-mound  at  the  foot  of  which  the 
party  had  halted. 

"  Forward !  "  shouted  Bennett ;  "  hurry  there, 
men !  " 

Desperately  eager,  the  men  bent  panting  to  their 
work.  The  sledge  bearing  the  whaleboat  topped 
the  hummock. 

"  Now,  then,  over  with  her !  "  cried  Ferriss. 

But  it  was  too  late.  As  they  stood  looking  down 
upon  it  for  an  instant,  the  level  floe,  their  one  sus- 
taining hope  during  all  the  day,  suddenly  cracked 
from  side  to  side  with  the  noise  of  ordnance.  Then 
the  groaning  and  shrieking  recommenced.  The 
crack  immediately  closed  up,  the  pressure  on  the 
sides  of  the  floe  began  again,  and  on  the  smooth 
surface  of  the  ice,  domes  and  mounds  abruptly 
reared  themselves.  As  the  pressure  increased  these 
domes  and  mounds  cracked  and  burst  into  countless 
blocks  and  slabs.  Ridge  after  ridge  was  formed  in 
the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  Thundering  like  a  cannon- 
ade of  siege  guns,  the  whole  floe  burst  up,  jagged, 
splintered,  hummocky.  In  less  than  three  minutes, 
and  while  the  Freja's  men  stood  watching,  the  level 
stretch  toward  which  since  morning  they  had  strugf- 


A  Man's  Woman 

gled  with  incalculable  toil  was  ground  up  into  a 
vast  mass  of  confused  and  pathless  rubble. 

"  Oh,  this  will  never  do,"  muttered  Ferriss,  dis- 
heartened. 

"  Come  on,  men !  "  exclaimed  Bennett.  "  Mr. 
Ferriss,  go  forward,  and  choose  a  road  for  us." 

The  labour  of  the  morning  was  recommenced. 
With  infinite  patience,  infinite  hardship,  the  sledges 
one  by  one  were  advanced.  So  heavy  were  the 
three  larger  McClintocks  that  only  one  could  be 
handled  at  a  time,  and  that  one  taxed  the  combined 
efforts  of  men  and  dogs  to  the  uttermost.  The  same 
ground  had  to  be  covered  seven  times.  For  every 
yard  gained  seven  had  to  be  travelled.  It  was  not 
a  march,  it  was  a  battle;  a  battle  without  rest  and 
without  end  and  without  mercy;  a  battle  with  an 
Enemy  whose  power  was  beyond  all  estimate  and 
whose  movements  were  not  reducible  to  any  known 
law.  A  certain  course  would  be  mapped,  certain 
plans  formed,  a  certain  objective  determined,  and" 
before  the  course  could  be  finished,  the  plans  exe- 
cuted, or  the  objective  point  attained  the  perverse, 
inexplicable  movement  of  the  ice  baffled  their  de- 
termination and  set  at  naught  their  best  ingenuity. 

At  four  o'clock  it  began  to  snow.  Since  the  mid- 
dle of  the  forenoon  the  horizon  had  been  obscured 
by  clouds  and  mist  so  that  no  observation  for  posi- 
tion could  be  taken.  Steadily  the  clouds  had  ad- 
vanced, and  by  four  o'clock  the  expedition  found 
itself  enveloped  by  wind  and  driving  snow.  The 
flags  could  no  longer  be  distinguished ;  thin  and 
treacherous  ice  was  concealed  under  drifts  ;  the  dogs 
floundered  helplessly;  the  men  could  scarcely  open 


A  Man's  Woman 

their  eyes  against  the  wind  and  fine,  powder-like 
snow,  and  at  times  when  they  came  to  drag  forward 
the  last  sledge  they  found  it  so  nearly  buried  in  the 
snow  that  it  must  be  dug  out  before  it  could  be 
moved. 

Toward  half  past  five  the  odometer  on  one 
of  the  dog-sleds  registered  a  distance  of  three- 
quarters  of  a  mile  made  since  morning.  Bennett 
called  a  halt,  and  camp  was  pitched  in  the  lee  of  one 
of  the  larger  hummocks.  The  alcohol  cooker  was 
set  going,  and  supper  was  had  under  the  tent,  the 
men  eating  as  they  lay  in  their  sleeping-bags.  But 
even  while  eating  they  fell  asleep,  drooping  lower 
and  lower,  finally  collapsing  upon  the  canvas  floor 
of  the  tent,  the  food  still  in  their  mouths. 

Yet,  for  all  that,  the  night  was  miserable.  Even 
after  that  day  of  superhuman  struggle  they  were  not 
to  be  allowed  a  few  hours  of  unbroken  rest.  By 
midnight  the  wind  had  veered  to  the  east  and  was 
blowing  a  gale.  An  hour  later  the  tent  came  down. 
Exhausted  as  they  were,  they  must  turn  out  and 
wrestle  with  that  slatting,  ice-sheathed  canvas,  and 
it  was  not  until  half  an  hour  later  that  everything 
was  fast  again. 

Once  more  they  crawled  into  the  sleeping-bags, 
but  soon  the  heat  from  their  bodies  melted  the  ice 
upon  their  clothes,  and  pools  of  water  formed  under 
each  man,  wetting  him  to  the  skin.  Sleep  was  im- 
possible. It  grew  colder  and  colder  as  the  night 
advanced,  and  the  gale  increased.  At  three  o'clock 
in  the  morning  the  centigrade  thermometer  was  at 
eighteen  degrees  below.  The  cooker  was  lighted 
again,  and  until  six  o'clock  the  party  huddled 


A  Man's  Woman 

wretchedly  about  it,  dozing  and  waking,  shivering 
continually. 

Breakfast  at  half  past  six  o'clock ;  under  way  again 
an  hour  later.  There  was  no  change  in  the  nature 
of  the  ice.  Ridge  succeeded  ridge,  hummock  fol- 
lowed upon  hummock.  The  wind  was  going  down, 
but  the  snow  still  fell  as  fine  and  bewildering  as  ever. 
The  cold  was  intense.  Dennison,  the  doctor  and 
naturalist  of  the  expedition,  having  slipped  his  mit- 
ten, had  his  hand  frostbitten  before  he  could  recover 
it.  Two  of  the  dogs,  Big  Joe  and  Stryelka,  were 
noticeably  giving  out. 

But  Bennett,  his  huge  jaws  clenched,  his  small, 
distorted  eyes  twinkling  viciously  through  the  ap- 
ertures of  the  wind-mask,  his  harsh,  black  eyebrows 
lowering  under  the  narrow,  contracted  forehead, 
drove  the  expedition  to  its  work  relentlessly.  Not 
Muck  Tu,  the  dog-master,  had  his  Ostiaks  more 
completely  under  his  control  than  he  his  men.  He 
himself  did  the  work  of  three.  On  that  vast  frame 
of  bone  and  muscle,  fatigue  seemed  to  leave  no 
trace.  Upon  that  inexorable  bestial  determination 
difficulties  beyond  belief  left  no  mark.  Not  one  of 
the  twelve  men  under  his  command  fighting  the 
stubborn  ice  with  tooth  and  nail  who  was  not  gal- 
vanised with  his  tremendous  energy.  It  was  as 
though  a  spur  was  in  their  flanks,  a  lash  upon  their 
backs.  Their  minds,  their  wills,  their  efforts,  their 
physical  strength  to  the  last  ounce  and  pennyweight 
belonged  indissolubly  to  him.  For  the  time  being 
they  were  his  slaves,  his  serfs,  his  beasts  of  burden, 
his  draught  animals,  no  better  than  the  dogs  strain- 
ing in  the  traces  beside  them.  Forward  they  must 
13 


A  Man's  Woman 

and  would  go  until  they  dropped  in  the  harness  or 
he  gave  the  word  to  pause. 

At  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  Bennett  halted. 
Two  miles  had  been  made  since  the  last  camp,  and 
now  human  endurance  could  go  no  farther.  Some- 
times when  the  men  fell  they  were  unable  to  get 
up.  It  was  evident  there  was  no  more  in  them  that 
day. 

In  his  ice-journal  for  that  date  Bennett  wrote : 

.  .  .  Two  miles  covered  by  4  P.M.  Our  course  con- 
tinues to  be  south,  20  degrees  west  (magnetic).  The  ice 
still  hummocky.  At  this  rate  we  shall  be  on  half  rations 
long  before  we  reach  Wrangel  Island.  No  observation 
possible  since  day  before  yesterday  on  account  of  snow 
and  clouds.  Stryelka,  one  of  our  best  dogs,  gave  out 
to-day.  Shot  him  and  fed  him  to  the  others.  Our  ad- 
vance to  the  southwest  is  slow  but  sure,  and  every  day 
brings  nearer  our  objective.  Temperature  at  6  P.M.,  6.8 
degrees  Fahr.  (minus  14  degrees  C.).  Wind,  east;  force,  2. 

The  next  morning  was  clear  for  two  hours  after 
breakfast,  and  when  Ferriss  returned  from  his  task 
of  path-finding  he  reported  to  Bennett  that  he  had 
seen  a  great  many  water-blinks  off  to  the  southwest. 

"  The  wind  of  yesterday  has  broken  the  ice  up," 
observed  Bennett ;  "  we  shall  have  hard  work  to- 
day." 

A  little  after  midday,  at  a  time  when  they  had 
wrested  some  thousand  yards  to  the  southward  from 
the  grip  of  the  ice,  the  expedition  came  to  the  first 
lane  of  open  water,  about  three  hundred  feet  in 
width.  Bennett  halted  the  sledges  and  at  once  set 
about  constructing  a  bridge  of  floating  cakes  of  ice. 
But  the  work  of  keeping  these  ice-blocks  in  place 


A  Man's  Woman 

long  enough  for  the  transfer  of  even  a  single  sledge 
seemed  at  times  to  be  beyond  their  most  strenuous 
endeavour.  The  first  sledge  with  the  cutter  crossed 
in  safety.  Then  came  the  turn  of  number  two, 
loaded  with  the  provisions  and  whaleboat.  It  was 
two-thirds  of  the  way  across  when  the  opposite  side 
of  the  floe  abruptly  shifted  its  position,  and  thirty 
feet  of  open  water  suddenly  widened  out  directly  in 
front  of  the  line  of  progress. 

"  Cut  loose !  "  commanded  Bennett  upon  the  in- 
stant. The  ice-block  upon  which  they  were  gath- 
ered was  set  free  in  the  current.  The  situation  was 
one  of  the  greatest  peril.  The  entire  expedition, 
men  and  dogs  together,  with  their  most  important 
sledge,  was  adrift.  But  the  oars  and  mast  and  the 
pole  of  the  tent  were  had  from  the  whaleboat,  and 
little  by  little  they  ferried  themselves  across.  The 
gap  was  bridged  again  and  the  dog;-sleds  trans- 
ferred. 

But  now  occurred  the  first  real  disaster  since  the 
destruction  of  the  ship.  Half-way  acicss  the  crazy 
pontoon  bridge  of  ice,  the  dogs,  harnessed  to  one 
of  the  small  sleds,  became  suddenly  terrified.  Be- 
fore any  one  could  interfere  they  had  bolted  from 
Muck  Tu's  control  in  a  wild  break  foi  the  farther 
side  of  the  ice.  The  sled  was  overturned  ;  pell-mell 
the  dogs  threw  themselves  into  the  water;  the  sled 
sank,  the  load-lashing  parted,  and  two  medicine 
chests,  the  bag  of  sewing  materials — of  priceless 
worth — a  coil  of  wire  ropes,  and  three  hundred  and 
fifty  pounds  of  pemmican  were  lost  in  the  twinkling 
of  an  eye. 

Without  comment  Bennett  at  once  addressed 
15 


A  Man's  Woman 

himself  to  making  the  best  of  the  business.  The 
dogs  were  hauled  upon  the  ice;  the  few  loads  that 
yet  remained  upon  the  sled  were  transferred  to 
another;  that  sled  was  abandoned,  and  once  more 
the  expedition  began  its  never-ending  battle  to  the 
southward. 

The  lanes  of  open  water,  as  foreshadowed  by  the 
water-blinks  that  Ferriss  had  noted  in  the  morning, 
were  frequent ;  alternating  steadily  with  hummocks 
and  pressure-ridges.  But  the  perversity  of  the  ice 
was  all  but  heart-breaking.  At  every  hour  the  lanes 
opened  and  closed.  At  one  time  in  the  afternoon 
they  had  arrived  upon  the  edge  of  a  lane  wide 
enough  to  justify  them  in  taking  to  their  boats. 
The  sledges  were  unloaded,  and  stowed  upon  the 
boats  themselves,  and  oars  and  sails  made  ready. 
Then  as  Bennett  was  about  to  launch  the  lane  sud- 
denly closed  up.  What  had  been  water  became  a 
level  floe,  and  again  the  process  of  unloading  and 
reloading  had  to  be  undertaken. 

That  evening  Big  Joe  and  two  other  dogs,  Gav- 
riga  and  Patsy,  were  shot  because  of  their  useless- 
ness  in  the  traces.  Their  bodies  were  cut  up  to  feed 
their  mates. 

"  I  can  spare  the  dogs,"  wrote  Bennett  in  his  journal 
for  that  day — a  Sunday — "but  McPherson,  one  of  the 
best  men  of  the  command,  gives  me  some  uneasiness. 
His  frozen  footnips  have  chafed  sores  in  his  ankle.  One 
of  these  has  ulcerated,  and  the  doctor  tells  me  is  in  a 
serious  condition.  His  pain  is  so  great  that  he  can  no 
longer  haul  with  the  others.  Shall  relieve  him  from  work 
during  the  morrow's  march.  Less  than  a  mile  covered 
to-day.  Meridian  observation  for  latitude  impossible  on 
account  of  fog.  Divine  services  at  5:30  P.M. 
16 


A  Man's  Woman 

A  week  passed,  then  another.  There  was  no 
change,  neither  in  the  character  of  the  ice  nor  in 
the  expedition's  daily  routine.  Their  toil  was  in- 
credible; at  times  an  hour's  unremitting  struggle 
would  gain  but  a  few  yards.  The  dogs,  instead  of 
aiding  them,  were  rapidly  becoming  mere  encum- 
brances. Four  more  had  been  killed,  a  fifth  had 
been  drowned,  and  two,  wandering  from  camp,  had 
never  returned.  The  second  dog-sled  had  been 
abandoned.  The  condition  of  McPherson's  foot 
was  such  that  no  work  could  be  demanded  from 
him.  Hawes,  the  carpenter,  was  down  with  fever 
and  kept  everybody  awake  all  night  by  talking  in 
his  sleep.  Worse  than  all,  however,  Ferriss's  right 
hand  was  again  frostbitten,  and  this  time  Dennison, 
the  doctor,  was  obliged  to  amputate  it  above  the 
wrist. 

"...  But  I  am  no  whit  disheartened,"  wrote  Ben- 
nett. "  Succeed  I  must  and  shall." 

A  few  days  after  the  operation  on  Ferriss's  hand 
Bennett  decided  it  would  be  advisable  to  allow  the 
party  a  full  twenty-four  hours'  rest.  The  march  of 
the  day  before  had  been  harder  than  any  they  had 
yet  experienced,  and,  in  addition  to  McPherson  and 
the  carpenter,  the  doctor  himself  was  upon  the  sick 
list. 

In  the  evening  Bennett  and  Ferriss  took  a  long 
walk  or  rather  climb  over  the  ice  to  the  southwest, 
picking  out  a  course  for  the  next  day's  march. 

A  great  friendship,  not  to  say  affection,  had 
sprung  up  between  these  two  men,  a  result  of  their 
long  and  close  intimacy  on  board  the  Freja  and  of 

3  17 


A  Man's  Woman 

the  hardships  and  perils  they  had  shared  during  the 
past  few  weeks  while  leading  the  expedition  in  the 
retreat  to  the  southward.  When  they  had  decided 
upon  the  track  of  the  morrow's  advance  they  sat 
down  for  a  moment  upon  the  crest  of  a  hummock 
to  breathe  themselves,  their  elbows  on  their  knees, 
looking  off  to  the  south  over  the  desolation  of 
broken  ice. 

With  his  one  good  hand  Ferriss  drew  a  pipe  and 
a  handful  of  tea  leaves  wrapped  in  oiled  paper  from 
the  breast  of  his  deer-skin  parkie. 

"  Do  you  mind  filling  this  pipe  for  me,  Ward  ?  " 
he  asked  of  Bennett. 

Bennett  glanced  at  the  tea  leaves  and  handed 
them  back  to  Ferriss,  and  in  answer  to  his  remon- 
strance produced  a  pouch  of  his  own. 

"  Tobacco  !  "  cried  Ferriss,  astonished ;  "  why,  I 
thought  we  smoked  our  last  aboard  ship." 

"  No,  I  saved  a  little  of  mine." 

"  Oh,  well,"  answered  Ferriss,  trying  to  interfere 
with  Bennett,  who  was  filling  his  pipe,  "  I  don't 
want  your  tobacco ;  this  tea  does  very  well." 

"  I  tell  you  I  have  eight-tenths  of  a  kilo  left,"  lied 
Bennett,  lighting  the  pipe  and  handing  it  back  to 
him.  "  Whenever  you  want  a  smoke  you  can  set 
to  me." 

Bennett  lit  a  pipe  of  his  own,  and  the  two  began 
to  smoke. 

"  'M,  ah !  "  murmured  Ferriss,  drawing  upon 
the  pipe  /ecstatically,  "  I  thought  I  never  was 
going  to  taste  good  weed  again  till  we  should  get 
home." 

Bennett  said  nothing.  There  was  a  long  silence. 
18 


A  Man's  Woman 

Home!  what  did  not  that  word  mean  for  them? 
To  leave  all  this  hideous,  grisly  waste  of  ice  behind, 
to  have  done  with  fighting,  to  rest,  to  forget  respon- 
sibility, to  have  no  more  anxiety,  to  be  warm  once 
more — warm  and  well  fed  and  dry — to  see  a  tree 
again,  to  rub  elbows  with  one's  fellows,  to  know  the 
meaning  of  warm  handclasps  and  the  faces  of  one's 
friends. 

"  Dick,"  began  Bennett  abruptly  after  a  long 
while,  "  if  we  get  stuck  here  in  this  damned  ice  I'm 
going  to  send  you  and  probably  Metz  on  ahead  for 
help.  We'll  make  a  two-man  kyack  for  you  to  use 
when  you  reach  the  limit  of  the  pack,  but  besides 
the  kyack  you'll  carry  nothing  but  your  provisions, 
sleeping-bags,  and  rifle,  and  travel  as  fast  as  you 
can."  Bennett  paused  for  a  moment,  then  in  a  dif- 
ferent voice  continued :  "  I  wrote  a  letter  last  night 
that  I  was  going  to  give  you  in  case  I  should  have 
to  send  you  on  such  a  journey,  but  I  think  I  might 
as  well  give  it  to  you  now." 

He  drew  from  his  pocket  an  envelope  carefully 
wrapped  in  oilskin. 

"  If  anything  should  happen  to  the  expedition — 
to  me — I  want  you  to  see  that  this  letter  is  de- 
livered." 

He  paused  again. 

"  You  see,  Dick,  it's  like  this ;  there's  a  girl " 

his  face  flamed  suddenly,  "  no — no,  a  woman,  a 
grand,  noble,  man's  woman,  back  in  God's  country 
who  is  a  great  deal  to  me — everything  in  fact.  She 
don't  know,  hasn't  a  guess,  that  I  care.  I  never 
spoke  to  her  about  it.  But  if  anything  should  turn 
up  I  should  want  her  to  know  how  it  had  been  with 
19 


A  Man's  Woman 

me,  how  much  she  was  to  me.  So  I've  written  her. 
You'll  see  that  she  gets  it,  will  you  ?  " 

He  handed  the  little  package  to  Ferriss,  and  con- 
tinued indifferently,  and  resuming  his  accustomed 
manner : 

"  If  we  get  as  far  as  Wrangel  Island  you  can  give 
it  back  to  me.  We  are  bound  to  meet  the  relief 
ships  or  the  steam  whalers  in  that  latitude.  Oh, 
you  can  look  at  the  address,"  added  Bennett  as 
Ferriss,  turning  the  envelope  bottom  side  up,  was 
thrusting  it  into  his  breast  pocket ;  "  you  know  her 
even  better  than  I  do.  It's  Lloyd  Searight." 

Ferriss's  teeth  shut  suddenly  upon  his  pipe- 
stem. 

Bennett  rose.  "  Tell  Muck  Tu,"  he  said,  "  in 
case  I  don't  think  of  it  again,  that  the  dogs  must  be 
fed  from  now  on  from  those  that  die.  I  shall  want 
the  dog  biscuit  and  dried  fish  for  our  own  use." 

"  I  suppose  it  will  come  to  that,"  answered 
Ferriss. 

"  Come  to  that !  "  returned  Bennett  grimly ;  "  I 
hope  the  dogs  themselves  will  live  long  enough  for 
us  to  eat  them.  And  don't  misunderstand,"  he 
added ;  "  I  talk  about  our  getting  stuck  in  the  ice, 
about  my  not  pulling  through  ;  it's  only  because  one 
must  foresee  everything,  be  prepared  for  everything. 
Remember — I — shall — pull — through." 

But  that  night,  long  after  the  rest  were  sleeping, 
Ferriss,  who  had  not  closed  his  eyes,  bestirred  him- 
self, and,  as  quietly  as  possible,  crawled  from  his 
sleeping-bag.  He  fancied  there  was  some  slight 
change  in  the  atmosphere,  and  wanted  to  read  the 
barometer  affixed  to  a  stake  just  outside  the  tent 


A  Man's  Woman 

Yet  when  he  had  noted  that  it  was,  after  all,  station- 
ary, he  stood  for  a  moment  looking  out  across  the 
ice  with  unseeing  eyes.  Then  from  a  pocket  in  his 
furs  he  drew  a  little  folder  of  morocco.  It  was 
pitiably  worn,  stained  with  sea-water,  patched  and 
repatched,  its  frayed  edges  sewed  together  again 
with  ravellings  of  cloth  and  sea-grasses.  Loosen- 
ing with  his  teeth  the  thong  of  walrus-hide  with 
which  it  was  tied,  Ferriss  opened  it  and  held  it 
to  the  faint  light  of  an  aurora  just  paling  in  the 
northern  sky. 

"  So,"  he  muttered  after  a  while,  "  so — Bennett, 

For  a  long  time  Ferriss  stood  looking  at  Lloyd's 
picture  till  the  purple  streamers  in  the  north  faded 
into  the  cold  gray  of  the  heavens.  Then  he  shot 
a  glance  above  him. 

"  God  Almighty,  bless  her  and  keep  her  1 "  he 
prayed. 

Far  off,  miles  away,  an  ice-floe  split  with  the 
prolonged  reverberation  of  thunder.  The  aurora 
was  gone.  Ferriss  returned  to  the  tent. 

The  following  week  the  expedition  suffered  mis- 
erably. Snowstorm  followed  snowstorm,  the  tem- 
perature dropped  to  twenty-two  degrees  below  the 
freezing-point,  and  gales  of  wind  from  the  east 
whipped  and  scourged  the  struggling  men  inces- 
santly with  myriad  steel-tipped  lashes.  At  night 
the  agony  in  their  feet  was  all  but  unbearable.  It 
was  impossible  to  be  warm,  impossible  to  be  dry. 
Dennison,  in  a  measure,  recovered  his  health,  but 
the  ulcer  on  McPherson's  foot  had  so  eaten  the  flesh 
that  the  muscles  were  visible.  Hawes's  monotonous 


A  Man's  Woman 

chatter  and  crazy  whimperings  filled  the  tent  every 
night. 

The  only  pleasures  left  them,  the  only  breaks  in 
the  monotony  of  that  life,  were  to  eat,  and,  when 
possible,  to  sleep.  Thought,  reason,  and  reflection 
dwindled  in  their  brains.  Instincts — the  primitive, 
elemental  impulses  of  the  animal — possessed  them 
instead.  To  eat,  to  sleep,  to  be  warm — they  asked 
nothing  better.  The  night's  supper  was  a  vision 
that  dwelt  in  their  imaginations  hour  after  hour 
throughout  the  entire  day.  Oh,  to  sit  about  the 
blue  flame  of  alcohol  sputtering  underneath  the  old 
and  battered  cooker  of  sheet-iron !  To  smell  the 
delicious  savour  of  the  thick,  boiling  soup !  And 
then  the  meal  itself — to  taste  the  hot,  coarse,  meaty 
food ;  to  feel  that  unspeakably  grateful  warmth  and 
glow,  that  almost  divine  sensation  of  satiety  spread- 
ing through  their  poor,  shivering  bodies,  and  then 
sleep;  sleep,  though  quivering  with  cold;  sleep, 
though  the  wet  searched  the  flesh  to  the  very  mar- 
row ;  sleep,  though  the  feet  burned  and  crisped  with 
torture;  sleep,  sleep,  the  dreamless  stupefaction  of 
exhaustion,  the  few  hours'  oblivion,  the  day's  short 
armistice  from  pain ! 

But  stronger,  more  insistent  than  even  these  in- 
stincts of  the  animal  was  the  blind,  unreasoned  im- 
pulse that  set  their  faces  to  the  southward :  "  To 
get  forward,  to  get  forward."  Answering  the  re- 
sistless influence  of  their  leader,  that  indomitable 
man  of  iron  whom  no  fortune  could  break  nor  bend, 
and  who  imposed  his  will  upon  them  as  it  were  a 
yoke  of  steel — this  idea  became  for  them  a  sort  of 
obsession.  Forward,  if  it  were  only  a  yard;  if  it 


A  Man's  Woman 

were  only  a  foot.  Forward  over  the  heart-breaking, 
rubble  ice ;  forward  against  the  biting,  shrieking 
wind ;  forward  in  the  face  of  the  blinding  snow ;  for- 
ward through  the  brittle  crusts  and  icy  water;  for- 
ward, although  every  step  was  an  agony,  though  the 
haul-rope  cut  like  a  dull  knife,  though  their  clothes 
were  sheets  of  ice.  Blinded,  panting,  bruised,  bleed- 
ing, and  exhausted,  dogs  and  men,  animals  all,  the 
expedition  struggled  forward. 

One  day,  a  little  before  noon,  while  lunch  was 
being  cooked,  the  sun  broke  through  the  clouds, 
and  for  upward  of  half  an  hour  the  ice-pack  was  one 
blinding,  diamond  glitter.  Bennett  ran  for  his  sex- 
tant and  got  an  observation,  the  first  that  had  been 
possible  for  nearly  a  month.  He  worked  out  their 
latitude  that  same  evening. 

The  next  morning  Ferriss  was  awakened  by  a 
touch  on  his  shoulder.  Bennett  was  standing  over 
him. 

"  Come  outside  here  a  moment,"  said  Bennett  in 
a  low  voice.  "  Don't  wake  the  men." 

"  Did  you  get  our  latitude  ?  "  asked  Ferriss  as  the 
two  came  out  of  the  tent. 

"  Yes,  that's  what  I  want  to  tell  you." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Seventy-four-nineteen." 

"  Why,  what  do  you  mean  ? "  asked  Ferriss 
quickly. 

"  Just  this  :  That  the  ice-pack  we're  on  is  drifting 
faster  to  the  north  than  we  are  marching  to  the 
south.  We  are  farther  north  now  than  we  were  a 
month  ago  for  all  our  marching." 


II. 


By  eleven  o'clock  at  night  the  gale  had  increased 
to  such  an  extent  and  the  sea  had  begun  to  build  so 
high  that  it  was  a  question  whether  or  not  the  whale- 
boat  would  ride  the  storm.  Bennett  finally  decided 
that  it  would  be  impossible  to  reach  the  land — 
stretching  out  in  a  long,  dark  blur  to  the  southwest 
— that  night,  and  that  the  boat  must  run  before  the 
wind  if  he  was  to  keep  her  afloat.  The  number  two 
cutter,  with  Ferriss  in  command,  was  a  bad  sailer, 
and  had  fallen  astern.  She  was  already  out  of  hail- 
ing distance;  but  Bennett,  who  was  at  the  whale- 
boat's  tiller,  in  the  instant's  glance  that  he  dared  to 
shoot  behind  him  saw  with  satisfaction  that  Ferriss 
had  followed  his  example. 

The  whaleboat  and  the  number  two  cutter  were 
the  only  boats  now  left  to  the  expedition.  The 
third  boat  had  been  abandoned  long  before  they 
had  reached  open  water. 

An  hour  later  Adler,  the  sailing-master,  who  had 
been  bailing,  and  who  sat  facing  Bennett,  looked 
back  through  the  storm;  then,  turning  to  Bennett, 
said: 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir,  I  think  they  are  signalling  us." 

Bennett  did  not  answer,  but,  with  his  hand  grip- 
ping the  tiller,  kept  his  face  to  the  front,  his  glance 
alternating  between  the  heaving  prow  of  the  boat 
and  the  huge  gray  billows  hissing  with  froth  ca- 


A  Man's  Woman 

rearing  rapidly  alongside.  To  pause  for  a  moment, 
to  vary  by  ever  so  little  from  the  course  of  the  storm, 
might  mean  the  drowning  of  them  all.  After  a  few 
moments  Adler  spoke  again,  touching  his  cap. 

"  I'm  sure  I  see  a  signal,  sir." 

"  No,  you  don't,"  answered  Bennett. 

"  Beg  pardon,  I'm  quite  sure  I  do." 

Bennett  leaned  toward  him,  the  cast  in  his  eyes 
twinkling  with  a  wicked  light,  the  furrow  between 
the  eyebrows  deepening.  "  I  tell  you,  you  don't  see 
any  signal ;  do  you  understand  ?  You  don't  see  any 
signal  until  I  choose  to  have  you." 

The  night  was  bitter  hard  for  the  occupants  of  the 
whaleboat.  In  their  weakened  condition  they  were 
in  no  shape  to  fight  a  polar  hurricane  in  an  open 
boat. 

For  three  weeks  they  had  not  known  the  mean- 
ing of  full  rations.  During  the  first  days  after  the 
line  of  march  over  the  ice  had  been  abruptly 
changed  to  the  west  in  the  hope  of  reaching  open 
water,  only  three-quarter  rations  had  been  issued, 
and  now  for  the  last  two  days  half  rations  had  been 
their  portion.  The  gnawing  of  hunger  had  begun. 
Every  man  was  perceptibly  weaker.  Matters  were 
getting  desperate. 

But  by  seven  o'clock  the  next  morning  the  storm 
had  blown  itself  out.  To  Bennett's  inexpressible 
relief  the  cutter  hove  in  view.  Shaping  their  course 
to  landward  once  more,  the  boats  kept  company, 
and  by  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  Bennett  and  the 
crew  of  the  whaleboat  successfully  landed  upon  a 
bleak,  desolate,  and  wind-scourged  coast.  But  in 
some  way,  never  afterward  sufficiently  explained, 
25 


A  Man's  Woman 

the  cutter  under  Ferriss's  command  was  crushed  in 
the  floating  ice  within  one  hundred  yards  of  the 
shore.  The  men  and  stores  were  landed — the  water 
being  shallow  enough  for  wading — but  the  boat  was 
a  hopeless  wreck. 

"  I  believe  it's  Cape  Shelaski,"  said  Bennett  to 
Ferriss  when  camp  had  been  made  and  their  maps 
consulted.  "  But  if  it  is,  it's  charted  thirty-five 
minutes  too  far  to  the  west." 

Before  breaking  camp  the  next  morning  Bennett 
left  this  record  under  a  cairn  of  rocks  upon  the  high- 
est point  of  the  cape,  further  marking  the  spot  by 
one  of  the  boat's  flags : 

The  Freja  Arctic  Exploring  Expedition  landed  at 
this  point  October  28,  1891.  Our  ship  was  nipped  and 
sunk  in  76  deg.  10  min.  north  latitude  on  the  I2th  of  July 
last.  I  then  attempted  a  southerly  march  to  Wrangel 
Island,  but  found  such  a  course  impracticable  on  account 
of  northerly  drift  of  ice.  On  the  1st  of  October  I  accord- 
ingly struck  off  to  the  westward  to  find  open  water  at  the 
limit  of  the  ice,  being  compelled  to  abandon  one  boat  and 
two  sledges  on  the  way.  A  second  boat  was  crushed  be- 
ycnd  repair  in  drifting  ice  while  attempting  a  landing  at 
this  place.  Our  one  remaining  boat  being  too  small  to 
accommodate  the  members  of  the  expedition,  circum- 
stances oblige  me  to  begin  an  overland  march  toward 
Kclytichin  Bay,  following  the  line  of  the  coast.  We  ex- 
pect cither  to  winter  among  the  Chuckch  settlements  men- 
tioned by  Nordenskjold  as  existing  upon  the  eastern 
shores  of  Kolyuchin  Bay  or  to  fall  in  with  the  relief  ships 
or  the  steam  whalers  en  route.  By  issuing  half  rations  I 
have  enorgh  provisions  for  eighteen  days,  and  have  saved 
all  records,  observations,  papers,  instruments,  etc.  En- 
closed is  the  muster  roll  of  the  expedition.  No  scurvy  as 
yet  and  no  deaths.  Our  sick  are  William  Hawes,  car- 
penter, arctic  fever,  serious;  David  McPherson,  seaman, 
26 


A  Man's  Woman 

ulceration  of  left  foot,  serious.  The  general  condition  of 
the  rest  of  the  men  is  fair,  though  much  weakened  by  ex- 
posure and  lack  of  food. 

(Signed)  WARD  BENNETT, 

Commanding. 

But  during  the  night,  their  first  night  on  land, 
Bennett  resolved  upon  a  desperate  expedient.  Not 
only  the  boat  was  to  be  abandoned,  but  also  the 
sledges,  and  not  only  the  sledges,  but  every  article 
of  weight  not  absolutely  necessary  to  the  existence 
of  the  party.  Two  weeks  before,  the  sun  had  set  not 
to  rise  again  for  six  months.  Winter  was  upon 
them  and  darkness.  The  Enemy  was  drawing  near. 
The  great  remorseless  grip  of  the  Ice  was  closing. 
It  was  no  time  for  half-measures  and  hesitation; 
now  it  was  life  or  death. 

The  sense  of  their  peril,  the  nearness  of  the 
Enemy,  strung  Bennett's  nerves  taut  as  harp-strings. 
His  will  hardened  to  the  flinty  hardness  of  the  ice 
itself.  His  strength  of  mind  and  of  body  seemed 
suddenly  to  quadruple  itself.  *His  determination 
was  that  of  the  battering-ram,  blind,  deaf,  resistless. 
The  ugly  set  of  his  face  became  all  the  more  ugly, 
the  contorted  eyes  flashing,  the  great  jaw  all  but 
simian.  He  appeared  physically  larger.  It  was  no 
longer  a  man ;  it  was  a  giant,  an  ogre,  a  colossal 
jotun  hurling  ice-blocks,  fighting  out  a  battle  un- 
speakable, in  the  dawn  of  the  world,  in  chaos  and  in 
darkness.  * 

The  impedimenta  of  the  expedition  were  broken 
up  into  packs  that  each  man  carried  upon  his  shoul- 
ders. From  now  on  everything  that  hindered  the 
rapidity  of  their  movements  must  be  left  behind. 
27 


A  Man's  Woman 

Six  dogs  (all  that  remained  of  the  pack  of  eighteen) 
still  accompanied  them. 

Bennett  had  hoped  and  had  counted  upon  his 
men  for  an  average  daily  march  of  sixteen  miles,  but 
the  winter  gales  driving  down  from  the  northeast 
beat  them  back;  the  ice  and  snow  that  covered  the 
land  were  no  less  uneven  than  the  hummocks  of  the 
pack.  All  game  had  migrated  far  to  the  southward. 

Every  day  the  men  grew  weaker  and  weaker; 
their  provisions  dwindled.  Again  and  again  one  or 
another  of  them,  worn  out  beyond  human  endur- 
ance, would  go  to  sleep  while  marching  and  would 
fall  to  the  ground. 

Upon  the  third  day  of  this  overland  march  one 
of  the  dogs  suddenly  collapsed  upon  the  ground, 
exhausted  and  dying.  Bennett  had  ordered  such  of 
the  dogs  that  gave  out  cut  up  and  their  meat  added 
to  the  store  of  the  party's  provisions.  Ferriss  and 
Muck  Tu  had  started  to  pick  up  the  dead  dog  when 
the  other  dogs,  famished  and  savage,  sprang  upon 
their  fallen  mate.  The  two  men  struck  and  kicked, 
all  to  no  purpose ;  the  dogs  turned  upon  them  snarl- 
ing and  snapping.  They,  too,  demanded  to  live ; 
they,  too,  wanted  to  be  fed.*  It  was  a  hideous  busi- 
ness. There  in  that  half-night  of  the  polar  circle, 
lost  and  forgotten  on  a  primordial  shore,  back 
into  the  stone  age  once  more,  men  and  animals 
fought  one  another  for  the  privilege  of  eating  a  dead 
dog.* 

But  their  life  was  not  all  inhuman;  Bennett  at 

least  could  rise  even  above  humanity,  though  his 

men  must  perforce  be  dragged  so  far  below  it.     At 

the  end  of  the  first  week  Hawes,  the  carpenter,  died. 

28 


A  Man's  Woman 

When  they  awoke  in  the  morning  he  was  found  mo- 
tionless and  stiff  in  his  sleeping-bag.  Some  sort 
of  grave  was  dug,  the  poor  racked  body  lowered 
into  it,  and  before  it  was  filled  with  snow  and  broken 
ice  Bennett,  standing  quietly  in  the  midst  of  the 
bare-headed  group,  opened  his  prayer-book  and 
began  with  the  tremendous  words,  "  I  am  the 
Resurrection  and  the  Life " 

It  was  the  beginning  of  the  end.  A  week  later 
the  actual  starvation  began.  Slower  and  slower 
moved  the  expedition  on  its  daily  march,  faltering, 
staggering,  blinded  and  buffeted  by  the  incessant 
northeast  winds,  cruel,  merciless,  keen  as  knife- 
blades.  Hope  long  since  was  dead;  resolve  wore 
thin  under  friction  of  disaster;  like  a  rat,  hunger 
gnawed  at  them  hour  after  hour;  the  cold  was  one 
unending  agony.  Still  Bennett  was  unbroken,  still 
he  urged  them  forward.  For  so  long  as  they  could 
move  he  would  drive  them  on. 

Toward  four  o'clock  on  the  afternoon  of  one  par- 
ticularly hard  day,  word  was  passed  forward  to 
Bennett  at  the  head  of  the  line  that  something  was 
wrong  in  the  rear. 

"  It's  Adler ;  he's  down  again  and  can't  get  up ; 
asks  you  to  leave  him." 

Bennett  halted  the  line  and  went  back  some  little 
distance  to  find  Adler  lying  prone  upon  his  back, 
his  eyes  half  closed,  breathing  short  and  fast.  He 
shook  him  roughly  by  the  shoulder. 

"  Up  with  you !  " 

Adler  opened  his  eyes  and  shook  his  head. 

"I — I'm  done  for  this  time,  sir;  just  leave  me 
here — please." 

29 


A  Man's  Woman 

"  H'up !  "  shouted  Bennett ;  "  you're  not  done  for ; 
I  know  better." 

"  Really,  sir,  I — I  can't." 

"  H'up !  " 

"  If  you  would  only  please — for  God's  sake,  sir. 
It's  more  than  I'm  made  for." 

Bennett  kicked  him  in  the  side. 

"  H'up  with  you !  " 

Adler  struggled  to  his  feet  again,  Bennett  aiding 
him. 

"  Now,  then,  can  you  go  five  yards  ?  " 

"  I  think — I  don't  know — perhaps " 

"  Go  them,  then." 

The  other  moved  forward. 

"  Can  you  go  five  more ;  answer,  speak  up,  can 
you  ?  " 

Adler  nodded  his  head. 

"  Go  them — and  another  five — and  another — 
there — that's  something  like  a  man,  and  let's  have 
no  more  woman's  drivel  about  dying." 

"  But " 

Bennett  came  close  to  him,  shaking  a  forefinger 
in  his  face,  thrusting  forward  his  chin  wickedly. 

"  My  friend,  I'll  drive  you  like  a  dog,  but,"  his 
fist  clenched  in  the  man's  face,  "  I'll  make  you  pull 
through." 

Two  hours  later  Adler  finished  the  day's  march  at 
the  head  of  the  line. 

The  expedition  began  to  eat  its  dogs.  Every 
evening  Bennett  sent  Muck  Tu  and  Adler  down  to 
the  shore  to  gather  shrimns,  though  fifteen  hundred 
of  these  shrimns  hardly  filled  a  gill  measure.  The 
party  chewed  reindeer-moss  growing  in  scant 
30 


A  Man's  Woman 

patches  in  the  snow-buried  rocks,  and  at  times  made 
a  thin,  sickly  infusion  from  the -arctic  willow.  Again 
and  again  Bennett  despatched  the  Esquimau  and 
Clarke,  the  best  shots  in  the  party,  on  hunting  ex- 
peditions to  the  southward.  Invariably  they  re- 
turned empty-handed.  Occasionally  they  reported 
old  tracks  of  reindeer  and  foxes,  but  the  winter  colds 
had  driven  everything  far  inland.  Once  only  Clarke 
shot  a  snow-bunting,  a  little  bird  hardly  bigger 
than  a  sparrow.  Still  Bennett  pushed  forward. 

One  morning  in  the  beginning  of  the  third  week, 
after  a  breakfast  of  two  ounces  of  dog  meat  and  a 
half  cup  of  willow  tea,  Ferriss  and  Bennett  found 
themselves  a  little  apart  from  the  others.  The  men 
were  engaged  in  lowering  the  tent.  Ferriss  glanced 
behind  to  be  assured  he  was  out  of  hearing,  then : 

"  How  about  McPherson  ?  "  he  said  in  a  low 
voice. 

McPherson's  foot  was  all  but  eaten  to  the  bone 
by  now.  It  was  a  miracle  how  the  man  had  kept 
up  thus  far.  But  at  length  he  had  begun  to  fall 
behind ;  every  day  he  straggled  more  and  more,  and 
the  previous  evening  had  reached  camp  nearly  an 
hour  after  the  tent  had  been  pitched.  But  he  was 
a  plucky  fellow,  of  sterner  stuff  than  the  sailing- 
master,  Adler,  and  had  no  thought  of  giving  up. 

Bennett  made  no  reply  to  Ferriss,  and  the  chief 
engineer  did  not  repeat  the  question.  The  day's 
march  began  ;  almost  at  once  breast-high  snowdrifts 
were  encountered,  and  when  these  had  been  left 
behind  the  expedition  involved  itself  upon  the  pre- 
cipitate slopes  of  a  huge  talus  of  ice  and  bare,  black 
slabs  of  basalt.  Fully  two  hours  were  spent  in 
31 


A  Man's  Woman 

clambering  over  this  obstacle,  and  on  its  top  Bennett 
halted  to  breathe  the  men.  But  when  they  started 
forward  again  it  was  found  that  McPherson  could 
not  keep  his  feet.  When  he  had  fallen,  Adler  and 
Dennison  had  endeavoured  to  lift  him,  but  they 
themselves  were  so  weak  that  they,  too,  fell.  Den- 
nison could  not  rise  of  his  own  efforts,  and  instead  of 
helping  McPherson  had  to  be  aided  himself.  Ben- 
nett came  forward,  put  an  arm  about  McPherson, 
and  hauled  him  to  an  upright  position.  The  man 
took  a  step  forward,  but  his  left  foot  immediately 
doubled  under  him,  and  he  came  to  the  ground 
again.  Three  times  this  manoeuvre  was  repeated; 
so  far  from  marching,  McPherson  could  not  even 
stand. 

"  If  I  could  have  a  day's  rest "  began  Mc- 
Pherson, unsteadily.  Bennett  cast  a  glance  at  Den- 
nison, the  doctor.  Dennison  shook  his  head.  The 
foot,  the  entire  leg  below  the  knee,  should  have  been 
amputated  days  ago.  A  month's  rest  even  in  a 
hospital  at  home  would  have  benefited  McPherson 
nothing. 

For  the  fraction  of  a  minute  Bennett  debated  the 
question,  then  he  turned  to  the  command. 

"  Forward,  men !  " 

"  What — wh "    began     McPherson,     sitting 

upon  the  ground,  looking  from  one  face  to  another, 
bewildered,  terrified.  Some  of  the  men  began  to 
move  off. 

"  Wait — wait,"  exclaimed  the  cripple,  "  I — I  can 

get  along — I "     He  rose  to  his  knees,  made  a 

great  effort  to  regain  his  footing,  and  once  more 
came  crashing  down  upon  the  ice. 
32 


A  Man's  Woman 

"  Forward !  " 

"  But — but — but Oh,  you're  not  going  to 

leave  me,  sir  ?  " 

"  Forward !  " 

"  He's  been  my  chum,  sir,  all  through  the  voy- 
age," said  one  of  the  men,  touching  his  cap  to  Ben- 
nett; "I  had  just  as  soon  be  left  with  him.  I'm 
about  done  myself." 

Another  joined  in : 

"  I'll  stay,  too — I  can't  leave — it's — it's  too  terri- 
ble." 

There  was  a  moment's  hesitation.  Those  who 
had  begun  to  move  on  halted.  The  whole  expedi- 
tion wavered. 

Bennett  caught  the  dog-whip  from  Muck  Tu's 
hand.  His  voice  rang  like  the  alarm  of  a  trumpet. 

"  Forward !  " 

Once  more  Bennett's  discipline  prevailed.  His 
iron  hand  shut  down  upon  his  men,  more  than  ever 
resistless.  Obediently  they  turned  their  faces  to 
the  southward.  The  march  was  resumed. 

Another  day  passed,  then  two.  Still  the  expedi- 
tion struggled  on.  With  every  hour  their  suffer- 
ings increased.  It  did  not  seem  that  anything 
human  could  endure  such  stress  and  yet  survive. 
Toward  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  the  third 
night  Adler  woke  Bennett. 

"  It's  Clarke,  sir ;  he  and  I  sleep  in  the  same  bag. 
I  think  he's  going,  sir." 

One  by  one  the  men  in  the  tent  were  awakened, 
and  the  train-oil  lamp  was  lit. 

Clarke  lay  in  his  sleeping-bag  unconscious,  and 
at  long  intervals  drawing  a  faint,  quick  breath.  The 
3  33 


A  Man's  Woman 

doctor  bent  over  him,  feeling  his  pulse,  but  shook 
his  head  hopelessly. 

"  He's  dying — quietly — exhaustion  from  starva- 
tion." 

A  few  moments  later  Clarke  began  to  tremble 
slightly,  the  mouth  opened  wide ;  a  faint  rattle  came 
from  the  throat. 

Four  miles  was  as  much  as  could  be  made  good 
the  next  day,  and  this  though  the  ground  was  com- 
paratively smooth.  Ferriss  was  continually  falling. 
Dennison  and  Metz  were  a  little  light-headed,  and 
Bennett  at  one  time  wondered  if  Ferriss  himself  had 
absolute  control  of  his  wits.  Since  morning  the 
wind  had  been  blowing  strongly  in  their  faces.  By 
noon  it  had  increased.  At  four  o'clock  a  violent 
gale  was  howling  over  the  reaches  of  ice  and  rock- 
ribbed  land.  It  was  impossible  to  go  forward  while 
it  lasted.  The  stronger  gusts  fairly  carried  their 
feet  from  under  them.  At  half-past  four  the  party 
halted.  The  gale  was  now  a  hurricane.  The  ex- 
pedition paused,  collected  itself,  went  forward; 
halted  again,  again  attempted  to  move,  and  came 
at  last  to  a  definite  standstill  in  whirling  snow- 
clouds  and  blinding,  stupefying  blasts. 

"  Pitch  the  tent !  "  said  Bennett  quietly.  "  We 
must  wait  now  till  it  blows  over." 

In  the  lee  of  a  mound  of  ice-covered  rock  some 
hundred  yards  from  the  coast  the  tent  was  pitched, 
and  supper,  such  as  it  was,  eaten  in  silence.  All 
knew  what  this  enforced  halt  must  mean  for  them. 
That  supper — each  man  could  hold  his  portion  in 
the  hollow  of  one  hand — was  the  last  of  their  regu- 
lar provisions.  March  they  could  not.  What  now  ? 
34 


A  Man's  Woman 

Before  crawling  into  their  sleeping-bags,  and  at 
Bennett's  request,  all  joined  in  repeating  the  Creed 
and  the  Lord's  Prayer. 

The  next  day  passed,  and  the  next,  and  the  next. 
The  gale  continued  steadily.  The  southerly  march 
was  discontinued.  All  day  and  all  night  the  men 
kept  in  the  tent,  huddled  in  the  sleeping-bags,  some- 
times sleeping  eighteen  and  twenty  hours  out  of  the 
twenty-four.  They  lost  all  consciousness  of  the 
lapse  of  time ;  sensation  even  of  suffering  left  them ; 
the  very  hunger  itself  had  ceased  to  gnaw.  Only 
Bennett  and  Ferriss  seemed  to  keep  their  heads. 
Then  slowly  the  end  began. 

For  that  last  week  Bennett's  entries  in  his  ice- 
journal  were  as  follows : 

November  2gth — Monday — Camped  at  4:30  P.M.  about 
loo  yards  from  the  coast.  Open  water  to  the  eastward 
as  far  as  I  can  see.  If  I  had  not  been  compelled  to  aban- 
don my  boats — but  it  is  useless  to  repine.  I  must  look 
our  situation  squarely  in  the  face.  At  noon  served 
out  last  beef-extract,  which  we  drank  with  some  willow 
tea.  Our  remaining  provisions  consist  of  four-fifteenths 
of  a  pound  of  pemmican  per  man,  and  the  rest  of  the  dog 
meat.  Where  are  the  relief  ships?  We  should  at  least 
have  met  the  steam  whalers  long  before  this. 

November  30th — Tuesday — The  doctor  amputated  Mr. 
Ferriss's  other  hand  to-day.  Living  gale  of  wind  from 
northeast.  Impossible  to  march  against  it  in  our  weak- 
ened condition;  must  camp  here  till  it  abates.  Made  soup 
of  the  last  of  the  dog  meat  this  afternoon.  Our  last  pem- 
mican gone. 

December  ist — Wednesday — Everybody  getting  weaker. 
Metz  breaking  down.  Sent  Adler  down  to  the  shore  to 
gather  shrimps.  We  had  about  a  mouthful  apiece  for 
lunch.  Supper,  a  spoonful  of  glycerine  and  hot  water. 

December  2d — Thursday — Metz  died  during  the  night 
35 


A  Man's  Woman 

Hansen  dying.  Still  blowing  a  gale  from  the  northeast 
A  hard  night. 

December  3d— Friday— Hansen  died  during  early  morn- 
ing. Muck  Tu  shot  a  ptarmigan.  Made  soup.  Denni- 
son  breaking  down. 

December  4th — Saturday — Buried  Hansen  under  slabs 
of  ice.  Spoonful  of  glycerine  and  hot  water  at  noon. 

December  5th — Sunday — Dennison  found  dead  this 
morning  between  Adler  and  myself.  Too  weak  to  bury 
him,  or  even  carry  him  out  of  the  tent.  He  must  lie  where 
he  is.  Divine  services  at  5:30  P.M.  Last  spoonful  of 
glycerine  and  hot  water. 

The  next  day  was  Monday,  and  at  some  indeter- 
minate hour  of  the  twenty-four,  though  whether  it 
was  night  or  noon  he  could  not  say,  Ferriss  woke 
in  his  sleeping-bag  and  raised  himself  on  an  elbow, 
and  for  a  moment  sat  stupidly  watching  Bennett 
writing  in  his  journal.  Noticing  that  he  was  awake, 
Bennett  looked  up  from  the  page  and  spoke  in  a 
voice  thick  and  muffled  because  of  the  swelling  of 
his  tongue. 

"  How  long  has  this  wind  been  blowing,  Fer- 
riss ?  " 

"  Since  a  week  ago  to-day,"  answered  the  other. 

Bennett  continued  his  writing. 

.  .  .  Incessant  gales  of  wind  for  over  a  week.  Im- 
possible to  move  against  them  in  our  weakened  condition. 
But  to  stay  here  is  to  perish.  God  help  us.  It  is  the  end 
of  everything. 

Bennett  drew  a  line  across  the  page  under  the 
last  entry,  and,  still  holding  the  book  in  his  hand, 
gazed  slowly  about  the  tent. 

There  were  six  of  them  left — five  huddled  to- 
36 


A  Man's  Woman 

gether  in  that  miserable  tent — the  sixth,  Adler, 
being'  down  on  the  shore  gathering  shrimps.  In  the 
strange  and  gloomy  half-light  that  filled  the  tent 
these  survivors  of  the  Freja  looked  less  like  men 
than  beasts.  Their  hair  and  beards  were  long,  and 
seemed  one  with  the  fur  covering  of  their  bodies. 
Their  faces  were  absolutely  black  with  dirt,  and 
their  limbs  were  monstrously  distended  and  fat — fat 
as  things  bloated  and  swollen  are  fat.  It  was  the 
abnormal  fatness  of  starvation,  the  irony  of  misery, 
the  huge  joke  that  arctic  famine  plays  upon  those 
whom  it  afterward  destroys.  The  men  moved 
about  at  times  on  their  hands  and  knees ;  their 
tongues  were  distended,  round,  and  slate-coloured, 
like  the  tongues  of  parrots,  and  when  they  spoke 
they  bit  them  helplessly. 

Near  the  flap  of  the  tent  lay  the  swollen  dead  body 
of  Dennison.  Two  of  the  party  dozed  inert  and 
stupefied  in  their  sleeping-bags.  Muck  Tu  was  in 
the  corner  of  the  tent  boiling  his  sealskin  footnips 
over  the  sheet-iron  cooker.  Ferriss  and  Bennett 
sat  on  opposite  sides  of  the  tent,  Bennett  using  his 
knee  as  a  desk,  Ferriss  trying  to  free  himself  from 
the  sleeping-bag  with  the  stumps  of  his  arms.  Upon 
one  of  these  stumps,  the  right  one,  a  tin  spoon  had 
been  lashed. 

The  tent  was  full  of  foul  smells.  The  smell  of 
drugs  and  of  mouldy  gunpowder,  the  smell  of  dirty 
rags,  of  unwashed  bodies,  the  smell  of  stale  smoke, 
of  scorching  sealskin,  of  soaked  and  rotting  canvas 
that  exhaled  from  the  tent  cover — every  smell  but 
that  of  food. 

Outside  the  unleashed  wind  yelled  incessantly, 

±6^122 


A  Man's  Woman 

like  a  sabbath  of  witches,  and  spun  about  the  pitiful 
shelter  and  went  rioting  past,  leaping  and  somer- 
saulting from  rock  to  rock,  tossing  handfuls  of  dry, 
dust-like  snow  into  the  air ;  folly-stricken,  insensate, 
an  enormous,  mad  monster  gambolling  there  in 
some  hideous  dance  of  death,  capricious,  head- 
strong, pitiless  as  a  famished  wolf. 

In  front  of  the  tent  and  over  a  ridge  of  barren 
rocks  was  an  arm  of  the  sea  dotted  with  blocks  of  ice 
moving  silently  and  swiftly  onward;  while  back 
from  the  coast,  and  back  from  the  tent  and  to  the 
south  and  to  the  west  and  to  the  east,  stretched  the 
illimitable  waste  of  land,  rugged,  gray,  harsh ;  snow 
and  ice  and  rock,  rock  and  ice  and  snow,  stretching 
away  there  under  the  sombre  sky  forever  and  for- 
ever; gloomy,  untamed,  terrible,  an  empty  region — 
the  scarred  battlefield  of  chaotic  forces,  the  savage 
desolation  of  a  prehistoric  world. 

"  Where's  Adler?  "  asked  Ferriss. 

"  He's  away  after  shrimps,"  responded  Bennett. 

Bennett's  eyes  returned  to  his  journal  and  rested 
on  the  open  page  thoughtfully. 

"  Do  you  know  what  I've  just  written  here,  Fer- 
riss ?  "  he  asked,  adding  without  waiting  for  an 
answer :  "  I've  written  '  It's  the  end  of  everything.'  " 

"  I  suppose  it  is,"  admitted  Ferriss,  looking  about 
the  tent. 

"  Yes,  the  end  of  everything.  It's  come — at  last. 
.  .  .  Well."  There  was  a  long  silence.  One 
of  the  men  in  the  sleeping-bags  groaned  and  turned 
upon  his  face.  Outside  the  wind  lapsed  suddenly 
to  a  prolonged  sigh  of  infinite  sadness,  clamouring 
again  upon  the  instant. 

38 


A  Man's  Woman 

"  Dick,"  said  Bennett,  returning  his  journal  to  the 
box  of  records,  "  it  is  the  end  of  everything,  and  just 
because  it  is  I  want  to  talk  to  you — to  ask  you  some- 
thing." 

Ferriss  came  nearer.  The  horrid  shouting  of  the 
wind  deadened  the  sound  of  their  voices ;  the  others 
could  not  hear,  and  by  now  it  would  have  mattered 
very  little  to  any  of  them  if  they  had. 

"  Dick,"  began  Bennett,  "  nothing  makes  much 
difference  now.  In  a  few  hours  we  shall  all  be  like 
Dennison  here ;  "  he  tapped  the  body  of  the  doctor, 
who  had  died  during  the  night.  It  was  already 
frozen  so  hard  that  his  touch  upon  it  resounded 
as  if  it  had  been  a  log  of  wood.  "  We  shall  be  like 
this  pretty  soon.  But  before — well,  while  I  can,  I 
want  to  ask  you  something  about  Lloyd  Searight. 
You've  known  her  all  your  life,  and  you  saw  her 
later  than  I  did  before  we  left.  You  remember  I 
had  to  come  to  the  ship  two  days  before  you,  about 
the  bilge  pumps." 

While  Bennett  had  been  speaking  Ferriss  had 
been  sitting  very  erect  upon  his  sleeping-bag,  draw- 
ing figures  and  vague  patterns  in  the  fur  of  his  deer- 
skin coat  with  the  tip  of  the  tin  spoon.  Yes,  Ben- 
nett was  right;  he,  Ferriss,  had  known  her  all  his 
life,  and  it  was  no  doubt  because  of  this  very  fact 
that  she  had  come  to  be  so  dear  to  him.  But  he 
had  not  always  known  it,  had  never  discovered  his 
love  for  her  until  the  time  was  at  hand  to  say  good- 
bye, to  leave  her  for  this  mad  dash  for  the  Pole.  It 
had  been  too  late  to  speak  then,  and  Ferriss  had 
never  told  her.  She  was  never  to  know  that  he 
too — like  Bennett — cared. 
39 


A  Man's  Woman 

"  It  seems  rather  foolish,"  continued  Bennett 
clumsily,  "  but  if  I  thought  she  had  ever  cared  for 
me — in  that  way — why,  it  would  make  this  that  is 
coming  to  us  seem — I  don't  know — easier  to  be 
borne  perhaps.  I  say  it  very  badly,  but  it  would 
not  be  so  hard  to  die  if  I  thought  she  had  ever  loved 
me — a  bit." 

Ferriss  was  thinking  very  fast.  Why  was  it  he 
had  never  guessed  something  like  this?  But  in 
Ferriss's  mind  the  idea  of  the  love  of  a  woman  had 
never  associated  itself  with  Bennett,  that  great, 
harsh  man  of  colossal  frame,  so  absorbed  in  his  huge 
projects,  so  welded  to  his  single  aim,  furthering 
his  purposes  to  the  exclusion  of  every  other  thought, 
desire,  or  emotion.  Bennett  was  a  man's  man.  But 
here  Ferriss  checked  himself.  Bennett  himself  had 
called  her  a  man's  woman,  a  grand,  splendid  man's 
woman.  He  was  right ;  he  was  right.  She  was  no 
less  than  that ;  small  wonder,  after  all,  that  Bennett 
had  been  attracted  to  her.  What  a  pair  they  were, 
strong,  masterful  both,  insolent  in  the  consciousness 
of  their  power ! 

"  You  have  known  her  so  well  and  for  so  long," 
continued  Bennett,  "  that  I  am  sure  she  must  have 
said  something  to  you  about  me.  Tell  me,  did  she 
ever  say  anything — or  not  that — but  imply  in  her 
manner,  give  you  to  understand  that  she  would  have 
married  me  if  I  had  asked  her?  " 

Ferriss  found  time,  even  in  such  an  hour,  to  won- 
der at  the  sudden  and  unexpected  break  in  the 
uniform  hardness  of  Bennett's  character.  Ferriss 
knew  him  well  by  now.  Bennett  was  not  a  man 
to  ask  concessions,  to  catch  at  small  favours.  What 
40 


A  Man's  Woman 

he  wanted  he  took  with  an  iron  hand,  without  ruth 
and  without  scruple.  But  in  the  unspeakable  dis- 
solution in  which  they  were  now  involved  did  any- 
thing make  a  difference  ?  The  dreadful  mill  in  which 
they  had  been  ground  had  crushed  from  them 
all  petty  distinctions  of  personality,  individuality. 
Humanity — the  elements  of  character  common  to 
all  men — only  remained. 

But  Ferriss  was  puzzled  as  to  how  he  should 
answer  Bennett.  On  the  one  hand  was  the  woman 
he  loved,  and  on  the  other  Bennett,  his  best  friend, 
his  chief,  his  hero.  They,  too,  had  lived  together 
for  so  long,  had  fought  out  the  fight  with  the  Enemy 
shoulder  to  shoulder,  had  battled  with  the  same 
dangers,  had  dared  the  same  sufferings,  had  under- 
gone the  same  defeats  and  disappointments. 

Ferriss  felt  himself  in  grievous  straits.  Must  he 
tell  Bennett  the  truth?  Must  this  final  disillusion 
be  added  to  that  long  train  of  others,  the  disasters, 
the  failures,  the  disappointments,  and  deferred  hopes 
of  all  those  past  months?  Must  Bennett  die  hug- 
ging to  his  heart  this  bitterness  as  well? 

"  I  sometimes  thought,"  observed  Bennett  with 
a  weak  smile,  "  that  she  did  care  a  little.  I've 
surely  seen  something  like  that  in  her  eyes  at  certain 
moments.  I  wish  I  had  spoken.  Did  she  ever  say 
anything  to  you?  Do  you  think  she  would  have 
married  me  if  I  had  asked  her?  "  He  paused,  wait- 
ing for  an  answer. 

"  Oh — yes,"  hazarded  Ferriss,  driven  to  make 
some  sort  of  response,  hoping  to  end  the  conversa- 
tion ;  "  yes,  I  think  she  would." 

"  You  do  ?  "  said  Bennett  quickly.  "  You  think 
41 


A  Man's  Woman 

she  would  ?  What  did  she  say  ?  Did  she  ever  say 
anything  to  you  ?  " 

The  thing  was  too  cruel ;  Ferriss  shrank  from  it. 
But  suddenly  an  idea  occurred  to  him.  Did  any- 
thing make  any  difference  now?  Why  not  tell  his 
friend  that  which  he  wanted  to  hear,  even  if  it  were 
not  the  truth  ?  After  all  that  Bennett  had  suffered 
why  could  he  not  die  content  at  least  in  this  ?  What 
did  it  matter  if  he  spoke?  Did  anything  matter  at 
such  a  time  when  they  were  all  to  die  within  the  next 
twenty-four  hours?  Bennett  was  looking  straight 
into  his  eyes ;  there  was  no  time  to  think  of  conse- 
quences. Consequences  ?  But  there  were  to  be  no 
consequences.  This  was  the  end.  Yet  could  Fer- 
riss make  Bennett  receive  such  an  untruth  ?  Ferriss 
did  not  believe  that  Lloyd  cared  for  Bennett ;  knew 
that  she  did  not,  in  fact,  and  if  she  had  cared,  did 
Bennett  think  for  an  instant  that  she — of  all  women 
• — would  have  confessed  the  fact,  confessed  it  to  him, 
Bennett's  most  intimate  friend  ?  Ferriss  had  known 
Lloyd  well  for  a  long  time,  had  at  last  come  to  love 
her.  But  could  he  himself  tell  whether  or  no 
Lloyd  cared  for  him?  No,  he  could  not,  certainly 
he  could  not. 

Meanwhile  Bennett  was  waiting  for  his  answer. 
Ferriss's  mind  was  all  confused.  He  could  no  longer 
distinguish  right  from  wrong.  If  the  lie  would 
make  Bennett  happier  in  this  last  hour  of  his  life, 
why  not  tell  the  lie? 

"  Yes,"  answered  Ferriss,  "  she  did  say  some- 
thing once." 

"She  did?" 

"  Yes,"  continued  Ferriss  slowly,  trying  to  invent 
42 


A  Man's  Woman 

the  most  plausible  lie.  "  We  had  been  speaking  of 
the  expedition  and  of  you.  I  don't  know  how  the 
subject  was  brought  up,  but  it  came  in  very  natu- 
rally at  length.  She  said — yes,  I  recall  it.  She 
said :  '  You  must  bring  him  back  to  me.  Remem- 
ber he  is  everything  to  me — everything  in  the. 
world.' " 

"  She "  Bennett  cleared  his  throat,  then 

tugged  at  his  mustache ;  "  she  said  that  ?  " 

Ferriss  nodded. 

"  Ah !  "  said  Bennett  with  a  quick  breath,  then 
he  added  :  "  I'm  glad  of  that ;  you  haven't  any  idea 
how  glad  I  am,  Dick — in  spite  of  everything." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  guess  I  have,"  murmured  Ferriss. 

"  No,  no,  indeed,  you  haven't,"  returned  the 
other.  "  One  has  to  love  a  woman  like  that,  Dick, 
and  have  her — and  find  out — and  have  things  come 
right,  to  appreciate  it.  She  would  have  been  my 
wife  after  all.  I  don't  know  how  to  thank  you, 
Dick.  Congratulate  me." 

He  rose,  holding  out  his  hand ;  Ferriss  feebly  rose, 
too,  and  instinctively  extended  his  arm,  but  with- 
drew it  suddenly.  Bennett  paused  abruptly,  let- 
ting his  hand  fall  to  his  side,  and  the  two  men  re- 
mained there  an  instant,  looking  at  the  stumps  of 
Ferriss's  arms,  the  tin  spoon  still  lashed  to  the  right 
wrist. 

A  few  hours  later  Bennett  noted  that  the  gale 
had  begun  perceptibly  to  abate.  By  afternoon  he 
was  sure  that  the  storm  would  be  over.  As  he 
turned  to  re-enter  the  tent  after  reading  the  wind- 
gauge  he  noted  that  Kamiska,  their  one  remaining 
dog,  had  come  back,  and  was  sitting  on  a  projection 

43 


A  Man's  Woman 

of  ice  a  little  distance  away,  uncertain  as  to  her  re- 
ception after  her  absence.  Bennett  was  persuaded 
that  Kamiska  had  not  run  away.  Of  all  the  Ostiaks 
she  had  been  the  most  faithful.  Bennett  chose  to 
believe  that  she  had  wandered  from  the  tent  and  had 
lost  herself  in  the  blinding  snow.  But  here  was 
food.  Kamiska  could  be  killed;  life  could  be  pro- 
longed a  day  or  two,  perhaps  three,  while  the  strong- 
est man  of  the  party,  carrying  the  greater  portion 
of  the  dog  meat  on  his  shoulders,  could  push  forward 
and,  perhaps,  after  all,  reach  Kolyuchin  Bay  and 
the  Chuckch  settlements  and  return  with  aid.  But 
who  could  go?  Assuredly  not  Ferriss,  so  weak  he 
could  scarcely  keep  on  his  feet;  not  Adler,  who  at 
times  was  delirious,  and  who  needed  the  discipline  of 
a  powerful  leader  to  keep  him  to  his  work ;  Muck 
Tu,  the  Esquimau,  could  not  be  trusted  with  the 
lives  of  all  of  them,  and  the  two  remaining  men  were 
in  all  but  a  dying  condition.  Only  one  man  of 
them  all  was  equal  to  the  task,  only  one  of  them 
who  still  retained  his  strength  of  body  and  mind; 
he  himself,  Bennett.  Yes,  but  to  abandon  his 
men? 

He  crawled  into  the  tent  again  to  get  the  rifle 
with  which  to  shoot  the  dog,  but,  suddenly  pos- 
sessed of  an  idea,  paused  for  a  moment,  seated  on 
the  sleeping-bag,  his  head  in  his  hands. 

Beaten?  Was  he  beaten  at  last?  Had  the 
Enemy  conquered.  Had  the  Ice  enclosed  him  in  its 
vast,  remorseless  grip?  Then  o^.ce  more  his  deter- 
mination grew  big  within  him,  for  a  last  time  that 
iron  will  rose  up  in  mighty  protest  of  defeat.  No, 
no,  no ;  he  was  not  beaten ;  he  would  live ;  he,  the 
44 


A  Man's  Woman 

strongest,  the  fittest,  would  survive.  Was  it  not  right 
that  the  mightiest  should  live  ?  Was  it  not  the  great 
law  of  nature?  He  knew  himself  to  be  strong 
enough  to  move ;  to  march,  perhaps,  for  two  whole 
days ;  and  now  food  had  come  to  them,  to  him. 
Yes,  but  to  abandon  his  men  ? 

He  had  left  McPherson,  it  is  true ;  but  then  the 
lives  of  all  of  them  had  been  involved — one  life 
against  eleven.  Now  he  was  thinking  only  of  him- 
self. But  Ferriss — no,  he  could  not  leave  Ferriss. 
Ferriss  would  come  with  him.  They  would  share 
the  dog  meat  between  them — the  whole  of  it.  He, 
with  Ferriss,  would  push  on.  He  would  reach 
Kolyuchin  Bay  and  the  settlements.  He  would  be 
saved ;  he  would  reach  home ;  would  come  back — 
come  back  to  Lloyd,  who  loved  him.  Yes,  but  to 
abandon  his  men? 

Then  Bennett's  great  fist  closed,  closed  and  smote 
heavily  upon  his  knee. 

"  No,"  he  said  decisively. 

He  had  spoken  his  thoughts  aloud,  and  Ferriss, 
who  had  crawled  into  his  sleeping-bag  again,  looked 
at  him  curiously.  Even  Muck  Tu  turned  his  head 
from  the  sickening  mess  reeking  upon  the  cooker. 
There  was  a  noise  of  feet  at  the  flap  of  the  tent. 

"  It's  Adler,"  muttered  Ferriss. 

Adler  tore  open  the  flap. 

Then  he  shouted  to  Bennett:  "Three  steam 
whalers  off  the  foot  of  the  floe,  sir ;  boat  putting  off ! 
What  orders,  sir?  " 

Bennett  looked  at  him  stupidly,  as  yet  without 
definite  thought. 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  " 
45 


A  Man's  Woman 

The  men  in  the  sleeping-bags,  roused  by  Adler'* 
shout,  sat  up  and  listened  stolidly. 

"Steam  whalers?"  said  Bennett  slowly.  "Where? 
I  guess  not,"  he  added,  shaking  his  head. 

Adler  was  swaying  in  his  place  with  excitement. 

"  Three  whalers,"  he  repeated,  "  close  in.  They've 
put  off — oh,  my  God !  Listen  to  that." 

The  unmistakable  sound  of  a  steamer's  whistle, 
raucous  and  prolonged,  came  to  their  ears  from  the 
direction  of  the  coast.  One  of  the  men  broke  into 
a  feeble  cheer.  The  whole  tent  was  rousing  up. 
Again  and  again  came  the  hoarse,  insistent  cry  of 
the  whistle. 

"  What  orders,  sir  ?  "  repeated  Adler. 

A  clamour  of  voices  filled  the  tent. 

Ferriss  came  quickly  up  to  Bennett,  trying  to 
make  himself  heard. 

"  Listen !  "  he  cried  with  eager  intentness,  "  what 
I  told  you — a  while  ago — about  Lloyd — I  thought 
— it's  all  a  mistake,  you  don't  understand " 

Bennett  was  not  listening. 

"What  orders,  sir?"  exclaimed  Adler  for  the 
third  time. 

Bennett  drew  himself  up. 

"  My  compliments  to  the  officer  in  command. 
Tell  him  there  are  six  of  us  left — tell  him — oh,  tell 
him  anything  you  damn  please.  Men,"  he  cried, 
his  harsh  face  suddenly  radiant,  "  make  ready  to  get 
out  of  this!  We're  going  home,  going  home  to 
those  who  love  us,  men." 


III. 


As  Lloyd  Searight  turned  into  Calumet  Square 
on  her  way  from  the  bookseller's,  with  her  purchases 
under  her  arm,  she  was  surprised  to  notice  a  drop 
of  rain  upon  the  back  of  one  of  her  white  gloves. 
She  looked  up  quickly ;  the  sun  was  gone.  On  the 
east  side  of  the  square,  under  the  trees,  the  houses 
that  at  this  hour  of  the  afternoon  should  have  been 
overlaid  with  golden  light  were  in  shadow.  The 
heat  that  had  been  palpitating  through  all  the  City's 
streets  since  early  morning  was  swiftly  giving  place 
to  a  certain  cool  and  odorous  dampness.  There 
was  even  a  breeze  beginning  to  stir  in  the  tops  of 
the  higher  elms.  As  the  drops  began  to  thicken 
upon  the  warm,  sun-baked  asphalt  under  foot  Lloyd 
sharply  quickened  her  pace.  But  the  summer  storm 
was  coming  up  rapidly.  By  the  time  she  reached 
the  great  granite-built  agency  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  square  she  was  all  but  running,  and  as  she 
put  her  key  in  the  door  the  rain  swept  down  with  a 
prolonged  and  muffled  roar. 

She  let  herself  into  the  spacious,  airy  hallway  of 
the  agency,  shutting  the  door  by  leaning  against  it, 
and  stood  there  for  an  instant  to  get  her  breath. 
Rownie,  the  young  mulatto  girl,  one  of  the  servants 
of  the  house,  who  was  going  upstairs  with  an  arm- 
ful of  clean  towels,  turned  about  at  the  closing  of 
the  door  and  called : 

47 


A  Man's  Woman 

"  Jus'  in  time,  Miss  Lloyd ;  jus'  in  time.  I  reckon 
Miss  Wakeley  and  Miss  Esther  Thielman  going 
to  get  for  sure  wet.  They  ain't  neither  one  of  'em 
took  ary  umberel." 

"  Did  Miss  Wakeley  and  Miss  Thielman  both  go 
out?"  demanded  Lloyd  quickly.  "Did  they  both 
go  on  a  call  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Miss  Lloyd,"  answered  Rownie.  "  I  don't 
know  because  why  Miss  Wakeley  went,  but  Miss 
Esther  Thielman  got  a  typhoid  call — another  one. 
That's  three  f'om  this  house  come  next  Sunday 
week.  I  reckon  Miss  Wakeley  going  out  meks  you 
next  on  call,  Miss  Lloyd." 

While  Rownie  had  been  speaking  Lloyd  had 
crossed  the  hall  to  where  the  roster  of  the  nurses' 
names,  in  little  movable  slides,  hung  against  the 
wall.  As  often  as  a  nurse  was  called  out  she  re- 
moved her  name  from  the  top  of  this  list  and  slid  it 
into  place  at  the  bottom,  so  that  whoever  found  her 
name  at  the  top  of  the  roster  knew  that  she  was 
"  next  on  call  "  and  prepared  herself  accordingly. 

Lloyd's  name  was  now  at  the  top  of  the  list.  She 
had  not  been  gone  five  minutes  from  the  agency,  and 
it  was  rare  for  two  nurses  to  be  called  out  in  so 
short  a  time. 

"  Is  it  your  tu'n?  "  asked  Rownie  as  Lloyd  faced 
quickly  about. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  answered  Lloyd,  running  up  the 
stairs,  adding,  as  she  passed  the  mulatto :  "  There's 
been  no  call  sent  in  since  Miss  Thielman  left,  has 
there,  Rownie  ?  "  Rownie  shook  her  head. 

Lloyd  went  directly  to  her  room,  tossed  her  books 
aside  without  removing  the  wrappers,  and  set  about 
48 


A  Man's  Woman 

packing  her  satchel.  When  this  was  done  she 
changed  her  tailor-made  street  dress  and  crisp  skirt 
for  clothes  that  would  not  rustle  when  she  moved, 
and  put  herself  neatly  to  rights,  stripping  off  her 
rings  and  removing  the  dog-violets  from  her  waist. 
Then  she  went  to  the  round,  old-fashioned  mirror 
that  hung  between  the  windows  of  her  room,  and 
combed  back  her  hair  in  a  great  roll  from  her  fore- 
head and  temples,  and  stood  there  a  moment  or  so 
when  she  had  done,  looking  at  her  reflection. 
*  She  was  tall  and  of  a  very  vigorous  build,  full- 
throated,  deep-chested,  with  large,  strong  hands  and 
solid,  round  wrists.  Her  face  was  rather  serious; 
one  did  not  expect  her  to  smile  easily ;  the  eyes  dull 
blue,  with  no  trace  of  sparkle  and  set  deep  under 
heavy,  level  eyebrows.  Her  mouth  was  the  mouth 
of  the  obstinatp,  of  the  strong-willed,  and  her  chin 
was  not  small.  But  her  hair  was  a  veritable  glory,  a 
dull-red  flame,  that  bore  back  from  her  face  in  one 
great  solid  roll,  dull  red,  like  copper  or  old  bronze, 
thick,  heavy,  almost  gorgeous  in  its  sombre  radi- 
ance. Dull-red  hair,  dull-blue  eyes,  and  a  faint,  dull 
glow  forever  on  her  cheeks,  Lloyd  was  a  beautiful 
woman ;  much  about  her  that  was  regal,  for  she 
was  very  straight  as  well  as  very  tall,  and  could  look 
down  upon  most  women  and  upon  not  a  few  men. 

Lloyd  turned  from  the  mirror,  laying  down  the 
comb.  She  had  yet  to  pack  her  nurse's  bag,  or, 
since  this  was  always  ready,  to  make  sure  that  none 
of  its  equipment  was  lacking  She  was  very  proud 
of  this  bag,  as  she  had  caused  it  to  be  made  after 
her  own  ideas  and  design.  It  was  of  black  russia 
leather  and  in  the  form  of  an  ordinary  valise,  but  set 
4  49 


A  Man's  Woman 

off  with  a  fine  silver  clasp  bearing  her  name  and  the 
agency's  address.  She  brought  it  from  the  closet 
and  ran  over  its  contents,  murmuring  the  while  to 
herself: 

"  Clinical  thermometer  —  brandy  —  hypodermic 
syringe — vial  of  oxalic-acid  crystals — minim-glass 
— temperature  charts ;  yes,  yes,  everything  right." 

While  she  was  still  speaking  Miss  Douglass,  the 
fever  nurse,  knocked  at  her  door,  and,  finding  it 
ajar,  entered  without  further  ceremony. 

"  Are  you  in,  Miss  Searight  ?  "  called  Miss  Doug- 
lass, looking  about  the  room,  for  Lloyd  had  returned 
to  the  closet  and  was  busy  washing  the  minim-glass. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  cried  Lloyd,  "  I  am.     Sit  down." 

"  Rownie  told  me  you  are  next  on  call,"  said 
the  other,  dropping  on  Lloyd's  couch. 

"  So  I  am ;  I  was  very  nearly  caught,  too.  I  ran 
over  across  the  square  for  five  minutes,  and  while  I 
was  gone  Miss  Wakeley  and  Esther  Thielman  were 
called.  My  name  is  at  the  top  now." 

"  Esther  got  a  typhoid  case  from  Dr.  Pitts.  Do 
you  know,  Lloyd,  that's — let  me  see,  that's  four — 
seven — nine — that's  ten  typhoid  cases  in  the  City 
that  I  can  think  of  right  now." 

"  It's  everywhere ;  yes,  I  know,"  answered  Lloyd, 
coming  out  of  the  room,  carefully  drying  the 
minim-glass. 

"  We  are  going  to  have  trouble  with  it,"  con- 
tinued the  fever  nurse ;  "  plenty  of  it  before  cool 
weather  comes.  It's  almost  epidemic." 

Lloyd  held  the  minim-glass  against  the  light, 
scrutinising  it  with  narrowed  lids. 

"  What  did  Esther  say  when  she  knew  it  was  an 
So 


A  Man's  Woman 

infectious  case  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Did  she  hesitat« 
at  all?" 

"  Not  she !  "  declared  Miss  Douglass.  "  She's  no 
Harriet  Freeze." 

Lloyd  did  not  answer.  This  case  of  Harriet 
Freeze  was  one  that  the  nurses  of  the  house  had 
never  forgotten  and  would  never  forgive.  Miss 
Freeze,  a  young  English  woman,  newly  graduated, 
suddenly  called  upon  to  nurse  a  patient  stricken  with 
smallpox,  had  flinched  and  had  been  found  wanting 
at  the  crucial  moment,  had  discovered  an  excuse  for 
leaving  her  post,  having  once  accepted  it.  It  was 
cowardice  in  the  presence  of  the  Enemy.  Anything 
could  have  been  forgiven  but  that.  On  the  girl's 
return  to  the  agency  nothing  was  said,  no  action 
taken,  but  for  all  that  she  was  none  the  less  ex- 
pelled dishonourably  from  the  midst  of  her  compan- 
ions. Nothing  could  have  been  stronger  than  the 
esprit  de  corps  of  this  group  of  young  women,  whose 
lives  were  devoted  to  an  unending  battle  with  dis- 
ease. 

Lloyd  continued  the  overhauling  of  her  equip- 
ment, and  began  ruling  forms  for  nourishment 
charts,  while  Miss  Douglass  importuned  her  to  sub- 
scribe to  a  purse  the  nurses  were  making  up  for  an 
old  cripple  dying  of  cancer.  Lloyd  refused. 

"  You  know  very  well,  Miss  Douglass,  that  I  only 
give  to  charity  through  the  association." 

"  I  know,"  persisted  the  other,  "  and  I  know  you 
give  twice  as  much  as  all  of  us  put  together,  but 
with  this  poor  old  fellow  it's  different.  We  know 
all  about  him,  and  every  one  of  us  in  the  house  has 
given  something.  You  are  the  only  one  that  won't, 
51 


A  Man's  Woman 

Lloyd,  and  I  had  so  hoped  I  could  make  it  up  to 
fifty  dollars." 
"  No." 

"  We  need  only  three  dollars  now.     We  can  buy 
that  little  cigar  stand  for  him  for  fifty  dollars  " 
"  No." 

"  And  you  won't  give  us  just  three  dollars  ?  " 
"  No." 

"  Well,  you  give  half  and  I'll  give  half,"  said  Miss 
Douglass. 

"Do  you  think  it's  a  question  of  money  with 
me?"  Lloyd  smiled. 

Indeed  this  was  a  poor  argument  with  which  to 
move  Lloyd— Lloyd  whose  railroad  stock  alone 
brought  her  some  fifteen  thousand  dollars  a  year. 
"  Well,  no ;  I  don't  mean  that,  of  course,  but, 
Lloyd,  do  let  us  have  three  dollars,  and  I  can  send 
word  to  the  old  chap  this  very  afternoon.  It  will 
make  him  happy  for  the  rest  of  his  life." 

"  No — no — no,  not  three  dollars,  nor  three  cents." 
Miss  Douglass  made  a  gesture  of  despair.     She 
might  have  expected  that  she  could  not  move  Lloyd. 
Once  her  mind  was  made  up,  one  might  argue  with 
her  till  one's  breath  failed.     She  shook  her  head  at 
Lloyd  and  exclaimed,  but  not  ill-naturedly : 
"  Obstinate !    Obstinate !    Obstinate !  " 
^Lloyd  put  away  the  hypodermic  syringe  and  the 
minim-glass  in  their  places  in  the  bag,  added  a  little 
ice-pick  to  its  contents,  and  shut  the  bag  with  a  snap. 
"  Now,"  she  announced,  "  I'm  ready." 
When   Miss   Douglass   had  taken  herself  away 
Lloyd  settled  herself  in  the  place  she  had  vacated, 
and,  stripping  the  wrappings  from  the  books  and 
52 


A  Man's  Woman 

magazines  she  had  bought,  began  to  turn  the  pages, 
looking  at  the  pictures.  But  her  interest  flagged. 
She  tried  to  read,  but  soon  cast  the  book  from 
her  and  leaned  back  upon  the  great  couch,  her 
hands  clasped  behind  the  great  bronze-red  coils  at 
the  back  of  her  head,  her  dull-blue  eyes  fixed  and 
vacant. 

For  hours  the  preceding  night  she  had  lain  broad 
awake  in  her  bed,  staring  at  the  shifting  shadow 
pictures  that  the  electric  lights,  shining  through  the 
trees  down  in  the  square,  threw  upon  the  walls  and 
ceiling  of  her  room.  She  had  eaten  but  little  since 
morning;  a  growing  spirit  of  unrest  had  possessed 
her  for  the  last  two  days.  Now  it  had  reached  a 
head.  She  could  no  longer  put  her  thoughts  from 
her. 

It  had  all  come  back  again  for  the  fiftieth  time, 
for  the  hundredth  time,  the  old,  intolerable  burden 
of  anxiety  growing  heavier  month  by  month,  year 
by  year.  It  seemed  to  her  that  a  shape  of  terror, 
formless,  intangible,  and  invisible,  was  always  by  her, 
now  withdrawing,  now  advancing,  but  always  there ; 
there  close  at  hand  in  some  dark  corner  where  she 
could  not  see,  ready  at  every  instant  to  assume  a 
terrible  and  all  too  well-known  form,  and  to  jump 
at  her  from  behind,  from  out  the  dark,  and  to  clutch 
her  throat  with  cold  fingers.  The  thing  played  with 
her,  tormented  her ;  at  times  it  all  but  disappeared ; 
at  times  she  believed  she  had  fought  it  from  her 
for  good,  and  then  she  would  wake  of  a  night,  in  the 
stillness  and  in  the  dark,  and  know  it  to  be  there 
once  more — at  her  bedside — at  her  back — at  her 
throat — till  her  heart  went  wild  with  fear,  and  the 
53 


A  Man's  Woman 

suspense  of  waiting  for  an  Enemy  that  would  not 
strike,  but  that  lurked  and  leered  in  dark  corners, 
wrung  from  her  a  suppressed  cry  of  anguish  and 
exasperation,  and  drove  her  from  her  sleep  with 
streaming  eyes  and  tight-shut  hands  and  wordless 
prayers. 

For  a  few  moments  Lloyd  lay  back  upon  the 
couch,  then  regained  her  feet  with  a  brusque,  har- 
assed movement  of  head  and  shoulders. 

"  Ah,  no,"  she  exclaimed  under  her  breath,  "  it 
is  too  dreadful." 

She  tried  to  find  diversion  in  her  room,  rearrang- 
ing the  few  ornaments,  winding  the  clock  that 
struck  ships'  bells  instead  of  hours,  and  turning  the 
wicks  of  the  old  empire  lamps  that  hung  in  brass 
brackets  on  either  side  the  fireplace.  Lloyd,  after 
building  the  agency,  had  felt  nc  scruple  in  choosing 
the  best  room  in  the  house  and  furnishing  it  accord- 
ing to  her  taste.  Her  room  was  beautiful,  but  very 
simple  in  its  appointments.  There  were  great  flat 
wall-space*  unspoiled  by  bric-a-brac,  the  floor  mar- 
quetry, w'.tb  but  few  rugs.  The  fireplace  and  its 
appurtenances  were  of  brass.  Her  writing-desk,  a 
huge  affair,  of  ancient  and  almost  black  San  Do- 
mingo mahogany. 

But  soon  she  wearied  of  the  small  business  of 
pottering  about  her  clock  and  lamps,  and,  turning 
to  the  window,  opened  it,  and,  leaning  upon  her 
elbows,  looked  down  into  the  square. 

By  now  the  thunderstorm  was  gone,  like  the  with- 
drawal of  a  dark  curtain  ;  the  sun  was  out  aqfain  over 
the  City.  The  square,  deserted  but  half  an  hour 
ago,  was  reinvaded  with  its  little  people  of  nurse- 
54 


A  Man's  Woman 

maids,  gray-coated  policemen,  and  loungers  reading 
their  papers  on  the  benches  near  the  fountain.  The 
elms  still  dripped,  their  wet  leaves  glistening  again 
to  the  sun.  There  was  a  delicious  smell  in  the  air — 
a  smell  of  warm,  wet  grass,  of  leaves  and  drenched 
bark  from  the  trees.  On  the  far  side  of  the  square, 
seen  at  intervals  in  the  spaces  between  the  foliage, 
a  passing  truck  painted  vermilion  set  a  brisk  note 
of  colour  in  the  scene.  A  newsboy  appeared  chant- 
ing the  evening  editions.  On  a  sudden  and  from 
somewhere  close  at  hand  an  unseen  hand-piano 
broke  out  into  a  gay,  jangling  quickstep,  marking 
the  time  with  delightful  precision. 

A  carriage,  its  fine  lacquered  flanks  gleaming  in 
the  sunlight,  rolled  through  the  square,  on  its  way, 
no  doubt,  to  the  very  fashionable  quarter  of  the  City 
just  beyond.  Lloyd  had  a  glimpse  of  the  girl  lean- 
ing back  in  its  cushions,  a  girl  of  her  own  age,  with 
whom  she  had  some  slight  acquaintance.  For  a 
moment  Lloyd,  ridden  with  her  terrors,  asked  her- 
self if  this  girl,  with  no  capabilities  for  either  great 
happiness  or  great  sorrow,  were  not  perhaps,  after 
all,  happier  than  she.  But  she  recoiled  instantly, 
murmuring  to  herself  with  a  certain  fierce  energy : 

"  No,  no ;  after  all,  I  have  lived." 

And  how  had  she  lived  ?  For  the  moment  Lloyd 
was  willing  to  compare  herself  with  the  girl  in  the 
landau.  Swiftly  she  ran  over  her  own  life  from  the 
time  when  left  an  orphan ;  in  the  year  of  her  majority 
she  had  become  her  own  mistress  and  the  mistress 
of  the  Searight  estate.  But  even  at  that  time  she 
had  long  since  broken  away  from  the  conventional 
world  she  had  known.  Lloyd  was  a  nurse  in  the 
55 


A  Man's  Woman 

great  St.  Luke's  Hospital  even  then,  had  been  a 
probationer  there  at  the  time  of  her  mother's  death, 
six  months  before.  She  had  always  been  ambitious, 
but  vaguely  so,  having  no  determined  object  in 
view.  She  recalled  how  at  that  time  she  knew  only 
that  she  was  in  love  with  her  work,  her  chosen  pro- 
fession, and  was  accounted  the  best  operating  nurse 
in  the  ward. 

She  remembered,  too,  the  various  steps  of  her  ad- 
vancement, the  positions  she  had  occupied;  proba- 
tioner first,  then  full  member  of  the  active  corps, 
next  operating  nurse,  then  ward  manager,  and,  after 
her  graduation,  head  nurse  of  ward  four,  where  the 
maternity  cases  were  treated.  Then  had  come  the 
time  when  she  had  left  the  hospital  and  practised 
private  nursing  by  herself,  and  at  last,  not  so  long 
ago,  the  day  when  her  Idea  had  so  abruptly  oc- 
curred to  her ;  when  her  ambition,  no  longer  vague, 
no  longer  personal,  had  crystallised  and  taken 
shape ;  when  she  had  discovered  a  use  for  her  money 
and  had  built  and  founded  the  house  on  Calumet 
Square.  For  a  time  she  had  been  the  superinten- 
dent of  nurses  here,  until  her  own  theories  and  ideas 
had  obtained  and  prevailed  in  its  management. 
Then,  her  work  fairly  started,  she  had  resigned  her 
position  to  an  older  woman,  and  had  taken  her  place 
in  the  rank  and  file  of  the  nurses  themselves.  She 
wished  to  be  one  of  them,  living  the  same  life,  sub- 
ject to  the  same  rigorous  discipline,  and  to  that  end 
she  had  never  allowed  it  to  be  known  that  she  was 
the  founder  of  the  house.  The  other  nurses  knew 
that  she  was  very  rich,  very  independent  and  self- 
reliant,  but  that  was  all.  Lloyd  did  not  know  and 
56 


A  Man's  Woman 

cared  very  little  how  they  explained  the  origin  and 
support  of  the  agency. 

Lloyd  was  animated  by  no  great  philanthropy,  no 
vast  love  of  humanity  in  her  work ;  only  she 
wanted,  with  all  her  soul  she  wanted,  to  count  in  the 
general  economy  of  things;  to  choose  a  work  and 
do  it ;  to  help  on,  donner  un  coup  d  'epaule  ;  and  this, 
supported  by  her  own  stubborn  energy  and  her  im- 
mense wealth,  she  felt  that  she  was  doing.*  To  do 
things  had  become  her  creed ;  to  do  things,  not  to 
think  them ;  to  do  things,  not  to  talk  them ;  to  do 
things,  not  to  read  them.  No  matter  how  lofty  the 
thoughts,  how  brilliant  the  talk,  how  beautiful  the 
literature — for  her,  first,  last,  and  always,  were  acts, 
acts,  acts — concrete,  substantial,  material  acts.  The 
greatest  and  happiest  day  of  her  life  had  been  when 
at  last  she  laid  her  bare  hand  upon  the  rough,  hard 
stone  of  the  house  in  the  square  and  looked  up  at 
the  faqade,  her  dull-blue  eyes  flashing  with  the  light 
that  so  rarely  came  to  them,  while  she  murmured 
between  her  teeth : 

"  I— did— this." 

As  she  recalled  this  moment  now,  leaning  upon 
her  elbows,  looking  down  upon  the  trees  and  grass 
and  asphalt  of  the  square,  and  upon  a  receding 
landau,  a  wave  of  a  certain  natural  pride  in  her 
strength,  the  satisfaction  of  attainment,  came  to  her. 
Ah !  she  was  better  than  other  women ;  ah !  she  was 
stronger  than  other  women ;  she  was  carrying  out  a 
splendid  work.  She  straightened  herself  to  her  full 
height  abruptly,  stretching  her  outspread  hands 
vaguely  to  the  sunlisrht,  to  the  City,  to  the  world,  to 
the  great  engine  of  life  whose  lever  she  could  grasp 
57 


A  Man's  Wuman 

and  could  control,  smiling  proudly,  almost  in- 
solently, in  the  consciousness  of  her  strength,  the 
fine  steadfastness  of  her  purpose.  Then  all  at  once 
the  smile  was  struck  from  her  lips,  the  stiffness  of 
her  poise  suddenly  relaxed.  There,  there  it  was 
again,  the  terror,  the  dreadful  fear  she  dared  not 
name,  back  in  its  place  once  more — at  her  side,  at 
her  shoulder,  at  her  throat,  ready  to  clutch  at  her 
from  out  the  dark. 

She  wheeled  from  the  window,  from  the  sunlight, 
her  hands  clasped  before  her  trembling  lips,  the 
tears  brimming  her  dull-blue  eyes.  For  forty-eight 
hours  she  had  fought  this  from  her.  But  now  it 
was  no  longer  to  be  resisted. 

"  No,  no,"  she  cried  half  aloud.  "  I  am  no  better, 
no  stronger  than  the  others.  What  does  it  all 
amount  to  when  I  know  that,  after  all,  I  am  just  a 
woman — just  a  woman  whose  heart  is  slowly  break- 
ing?" 

But  there  was  an  interruption.  Rownie  had 
knocked  twice  at  her  door  before  Lloyd  had  heard 
her.  When  Lloyd  had  opened  the  door  the  girl 
handed  her  a  card  with  an  address  written  on  it  in 
the  superintendent's  hand. 

"  This  here  jus'  now  come  in  f'om  Dr.  Street, 
Miss  Lloyd,"  said  Rownie ;  "  Miss  Bergyn  "  (this 
was  the  superintendent  nurse)  "  ast  me  to  give  it  to 
you." 

It  was  a  call  to  an  address  that  seemed  familiar  to 
Lloyd  at  first ;  but  she  did  not  stop  at  that  moment 
to  reflect.  Her  stable  telephone  hung  against  the 
wall  of  the  closet.  She  rane  for  Lewis,  and  while 
waiting  for  him  to  get  around  dressed  for  the  street 
58 


A  Man's  Woman 

For  the  moment,  at  the  prospect  of  action,  even 
her  haunting  fear  drew  off  and  stood  away  from  her. 
She  was  absorbed  in  her  work  upon  the  instant — 
alert,  watchful,  self-reliant.  What  the  case  was  she 
could  only  surmise.  How  long  she  would  be  away 
she  had  no  means  of  knowing — a  week,  a  month, 
a  year,  she  could  not  tell.  But  she  was  ready  for 
any  contingency.  Usually  the  doctors  informed  the 
nurses  as  to  the  nature  of  the  case  at  the  time  of 
sending  for  them,  but  Dr.  Street  had  not  done  so 
now. 

However,  Rownie  called  up  to  her  that  her  coupe 
was  at  the  door.  Lloyd  caught  up  Jier  satchels  and 
ran  down  the  stairs,  crying  good-bye  to  Miss  Doug- 
lass, whom  she  saw  at  the  farther  end  of  the  hall. 
In  the  hallway  by  the  vestibufe  she  changed  the  slide 
bearing  her  name  from  the  top  to  the  bottom  of 
the  roster. 

"How  about  your  mail?"  cried  Miss  Douglass 
after  her. 

"  Keep  it  here  for  me  until  I  see  how  long  I'm 
to  be  away,"  ansvered  Lloyd,  her  hand  upon  the 
knob.  "  I'll  le*yoti  know." 

Lewis  ha^  put  Rox  in  the  shafts,  and  while  the 
coupe  spvn  over  the  asphalt  at  a  smart  clip  Lloyd 
tried  to  remember  where  she  had  he- ,  d  of  the  ad- 
dress before.  Suddenly  she  snapped  her  fingers; 
she  kr'jw  the  case,  had  even  been  assigned  to  it  some 
eight  months  before. 

"Yes,  yes,  that's  it— Campbell— wife  dead— 
Lafevette  Avenue — little  daughter,  Hattie — hip  dis- 
ease—hopeless— poor  little  babv." 

Arriving  at  the  house,  Lloyd  found  the  surgeon, 
59 


A  Man's  Woman 

Dr.  Street,  and  Mr.  Campbell,  who  was  a  widower, 
waiting  for  her  in  a  small  drawing-room  off  the 
library.  The  surgeon  was  genuinely  surprised  and 
delighted  to  see  her.  Most  of  the  doctors  of  the 
City  knew  Lloyd  for  the  best  trained  nurse  in  the 
hospitals. 

"  Oh,  it's  you,  Miss  Searight ;  good  enough ! " 
The  surgeon  introduced  her  to  the  little  patient's 
father,  adding :  "  If  any  one  can  pull  us  through, 
Campbell,  it  will  be  Miss  Searight." 

The  surgeon  and  nurse  began  to  discuss  the  case. 

"  I  think  you  know  it  already,  don't  you,  Miss 
Searight  ?  "  said  the  surgeon.  "  You  took  care  of  it 
a  while  last  winter.  Well,  there  was  a  little  im- 
provement in  the  spring,  not  so  much  pain,  but  that 
in  itself  is  a  bad  sign.  We  have  done  what  we 
could,  Farnham  and  I.  But  it  don't  yield  to  treat- 
ment; you  know  how  these  things  are — stubborn. 
We  made  a  preliminary  examination  yesterday. 
Sinuses  have  occurred,  and  the  probe  leads  down  to 
nothing  but  dead  bone.  Farnhsm  and  I  had  a  con- 
sultation this  morning.  We  n  ust  play  our  last 
card.  I  shall  exsect  the  joint  to-mo.  ~ow." 

Mr.  Campbell  drew  in  his  breath  arnl  held  it  for  a 
moment,  looking  out  of  the  window. 

Very  attei  'ive,  Llovd  merely  nodded  her  head, 
murmurirg: 

"  I  understand." 

When  Dr.  Street  had  gone  Lloyd  immediately 
set  to  work.  The  operation  was  to  take  place  at 
noon  the  following  day.  and  she  foresaw  there  would 
be  no  sleep  for  her  that  nierht.  Street  had  left 
everything  to  her,  even  to  the  sterilising  of  his  in- 
60 


A  Man's  Woman 

struments.  Until  daylight  the  following  morning 
Lloyd  came  and  went  about  the  house  with  an  un- 
tiring energy,  yet  with  the  silence  of  a  swiftly  mov- 
ing shadow,  getting  together  the  things  needed  for 
the  operation — strychnia  tablets,  absorbent  cotton, 
the  rubber  tubing  for  the  tourniquet,  bandages,  salt, 
and  the  like — and  preparing  the  little  chamber  ad- 
joining the  sick-room  as  an  operating-room. 

The  little  patient  herself,  Hattie,  hardly  into  her 
teens,  remembered  Lloyd  at  once.  Before  she  went 
to  sleep  Lloyd  contrived  to  spend  an  hour  in  the  sick- 
room with  her,  told  her  as  much  as  was  necessary  of 
what  was  contemplated,  and,  by  her  cheery  talk, 
her  gentleness  and  sympathy,  inspired  the  little 
girl  with  a  certain  sense  of  confidence  and  trust  in 
her. 

"  But — but — but  just  how  bad  will  it  hurt,  Miss 
Searight  ?  "  inquired  Hattie,  looking  at  her,  wide- 
eyed  and  serious. 

"  Dear,  it  won't  hurt  you  at  all ;  just  two  or  three 
breaths  of  the  ether  and  you  will  be  sound  asleep. 
When  you  wake  up  it  will  be  all  over  and  you  will 
be  well." 

Lloyd  made  the  ether  cone  from  a  stiff  towel,  and 
set  it  on  Hattie's  dressing-table.  Last  of  all  and 
just  before  the  operation  the  gauze  sponges  occu- 
pied her  attention.  The  daytime  brought  her  no 
rest.  Hattie  was  not  to  have  any  breakfast,  but 
toward  the  middle  of  the  forenoon  Lloyd  gave  her 
a  stimulating  enema  of  whiskey  and  water,  follow- 
ing it  about  an  hour  later  by  a  hundredth  grain  of 
atropia.  She  braided  the  little  girl's  hair  in  two 
long  plaits  so  that  her  head  would  rest  squarely  and 
61 


A  Man's  Woman 

flatly  upon  the  pillow.  Hattie  herself  was  nov? 
ready  for  the  surgeon. 

Now  there  was  nothing  more  to  be  done.  Lloyd 
could  but  wait.  She  took  her  place  at  the  bedside 
and  tried  to  talk  as  lightly  as  was  possible  to  her 
patient.  But  now  there  was  a  pause  in  the  round 
of  action.  Her  mind  no  longer  keenly  intent  upon 
the  immediate  necessities  of  the  moment,  began  to 
hark  back  again  to  the  one  great  haunting  fear  that 
for  so  long  had  overshadowed  it.  Even  while  she 
exerted  herself  to  be  cheerful  and  watched  for  the 
smiles  on  Hattie's  face  her  hands  twisted  tight  and 
tighter  under  the  folds  of  her  blouse,  and  some 
second  self  within  her  seemed  to  say : 

"  Suppose,  suppose  it  should  come,  this  thing  I 
dread  but  dare  not  name,  what  then,  what  then? 
Should  I  not  expect  it?  Is  it  not  almost  a  cer- 
tainty? Have  I  not  been  merely  deceiving  myself 
with  the  forlornest  hopes?  Is  it  not  the  most 
reasonable  course  to  expect  the  worst  ?  Do  not  all 
indications  point  that  way  ?  Has  not  my  whole  life 
been  shaped  to  this  end?  Was  not  this  calamity, 
this  mighty  sorrow,  prepared  for  me  even  before  I 
was  born?  And  one  can  do  nothing,  absolutely 
nothing,  nothing,  but  wait  and  hope  and  fear,  and 
eat  out  one's  heart  with  longing." 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  Instead  of  call- 
ing to  enter  Lloyd  went  to  it  softly  and  opened  it  a 
few  inches.*  Mr.  Campbell  was  there. 

"  Thev've  come — Street  and  the  assistant." 

Lloyd  heard  a  murmur  of  voices  in  the  hall  below 
and  the  closing  of  the  front  door. 

Farnham  and  Street  went  at  once  to  the  oper- 
62 


A  Man's  Woman 

ating-room  to  make  their  hands  and  wrists  aseptic. 
Campbell  had  gone  downstairs  to  his  smoking- 
room.  It  had  been  decided — though  contrary  to 
custom — that  Lloyd  should  administer  the  chloro- 
form. 

At  length  Street  tapped  with  the  handle  of  a 
scalpel  on  the  door  to  say  that  he  was  ready. 

"  Now,  dear,"  said  Lloyd,  turning  to  Hattie,  and 
picking  up  the  ether  cone. 

But  the  little  girl's  courage  suddenly  failed  her. 
She  began  to  plead  in  a  low  voice  choked  with  tears. 
Her  supplications  were  pitiful ;  but  Lloyd,  once 
more  intent  upon  her  work,  every  faculty  and 
thought  concentrated  upon  what  must  be  done,  did 
not  temporise  an  instant.  Quietly  she  gathered 
Hattie's  frail  wrists  in  the  grip  of  one  strong  palm, 
and  held  the  cone  to  her  face  until  she  had  passed  off 
with  a  long  sigh.  She  picked  her  up  lightly,  carried 
her  into  the  next  room,  and  laid  her  upon  the 
operating-table.  At  the  last  moment  Lloyd  had 
busied  herself  with  the  preparation  of  her  own  per- 
son. Over  her  dress  she  passed  her  hospital  blouse, 
which  had  been  under  a  dry  heat  for  hours.  She 
rolled  her  sleeves  up  from  her  strong  white  fore- 
arms with  their  thick  wrists  and  fine  blue  veining, 
and  for  upward  of  ten  minutes  scrubbed  them  with 
a  new  nail-brush  in  water  as  hot  as  she  could  bear 
it.  After  this  she  let  her  hands  and  forearms  lie  in 
the  permanganate  of  potash  solution  till  they  were 
brown  to  the  elbow,  then  washed  away  the  stain  in 
the  oxalic-acid  solution  and  in  sterilised  hot  water. 
Street  and  Farnham,  wearing  their  sterilised  gowns 
and  gloves,  took  their  places.  There  was  no  conver- 
63 


A  Man's  Woman 

sation.  The  only  sounds  were  an  occasional  sigh 
from  the  patient,  a  direction  given  in  a  low  tone, 
and,  at  intervals,  the  click  of  the  knives  and  scalpel. 
From  outside  the  window  came  the  persistent  chirp- 
ing of  a  band  of  sparrows. 

Promptly  the  operation  was  begun;  there  was  no 
delay,  no  hesitation;  what  there  was  to  be  done  had 
been  carefully  planned  beforehand,  even  to  the  mi- 
nutest details.  Street,  a  master  of  his  profession, 
thoroughly  familiar  with  every  difficulty  that  might 
present  itself  during  the  course  of  the  work  in  hand, 
foreseeing  every  contingency,  prepared  for  every 
emergency,  calm,  watchful,  self-contained,  set  about 
the  exsecting  of  the  joint  with  no  trace  of  compunc- 
tion, no  embarrassment,  no  misgiving.  His  assist- 
ants, as  well  as  he  himself,  knew  that  life  or  death 
hung  upon  the  issue  of  the  next  ten  minutes.  Upon 
Street  alone  devolved  the  life  of  the  little  girl.  A 
second's  hesitation  at  the  wrong  stage  of  the  opera- 
tion, a  slip  of  bistoury  or  scalpel,  a  tremor  of  the 
wrist,  a  single  instant's  clumsiness  of  the  fingers, 
and  the  Enemy — watching  for  every  chance,  intent 
for  every  momentarily  opened  chink  or  cranny 
wherein  he  could  thrust  his  lean  fingers — entered 
the  frail  tenement  with  a  leap,  a  rushing,  headlong 
spring  that  jarred  the  house  of  life  to  its  foundations. 
Lowering  close  over  her  head  Lloyd  felt  the  shadow 
of  his  approach.  He  had  arrived  there  in  that  com- 
monplace little  room,  with  its  commonplace  acces- 
sories, its  ornaments,  that  suddenly  seemed  so  triv- 
ial, so  impertinent — the  stopped  French  clock,  with 
its  simpering,  gilded  cupids,  on  the  mantelpiece;  the 
photograph  of  a  number  of  picnickers  "  grouped  " 


A  Man's  Woman 

on  a  hotel  piazza  gazing  with  monolithic  cheerful- 
ness at  this  grim  business,  this  struggle  of  the  two 
world  forces,  this  crisis  in  a  life. 

Then  abruptly  the  operation  was  over. 

The  nurse  and  surgeons  eased  their  positions  im- 
mediately, drawing  long  breaths.  They  began  to 
talk,  commenting  upon  the  operation,  and  Lloyd, 
intensely  interested,  asked  Street  why  he  had,  con- 
trary to  her  expectations,  removed  the  bone  above 
the  lesser  trochanter.  He  smiled,  delighted  at  her 
intelligence. 

"  It's  better  than  cutting  through  the  neck,  Miss 
Searight,"  he  told  her.  "  If  I  had  gone  through  the 
neck,  don't  you  see,  the  trochanter  major  would 
come  over  the  hole  and  prevent  the  discharges." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  see,  of  course,"  assented  Lloyd. 

The  incision  was  sewn  up,  and  when  all  was"  over 
Lloyd  carried  Hattie  back  to  the  bed  in  the  next 
room.  Slowly  the  little  girl  regained  conscious- 
ness, and  Lloyd  began  to  regard  her  once  more  as  a 
human  being.  During  the  operation  she  had  for- 
gotten the  very  existence  of  Hattie  Campbell,  a 
little  girl  she  knew.  She  had  only  seen  a  bit  v  of 
mechanism  out  of  order  and  in  the  hands  of  a  re- 
pairer. It  was  always  so  with  Lloyd.  Her  charges 
were  not  infrequently  persons  whom  she  knew,  often 
intimately,  but  during  the  time  of  their  sickness 
their  personalities  vanished  for  the  trained  nurse; 
she  saw  only  the  "  case,"  only  the  mechanism,  only 
the  deranged  clockwork  in  imminent  danger  of  run- 
ning down. 

But  the  danger  was  by  no  means  over.  The 
operation  had  been  near  the  trunk.  There  had  been 
5  65 


A  Man's  Woman 

considerable  loss  of  blood,  and  the  child's  power  of 
resistance  had  been  weakened  by  long  periods  of 
suffering.  Lloyd  feared  that  the  shock  might 
prove  too  great.  Farnham  departed,  but  for  a  little 
while  the  surgeon  remained  with  Lloyd  to  watch 
the  symptoms.  At  length,  however,  he  too,  pressed 
for  time,  and  expected  at  one  of  the  larger  hospitals 
of  the  City,  went  away,  leaving  directions  for  Lloyd 
to  telephone  him  in  case  of  the  slightest  change.  At 
this  hour,  late  in  the  afternoon,  there  were  no  indi- 
cations that  the  little  girl  would  not  recover  from  the 
shock.  Street  believed  she  would  rally  and  ulti- 
mately regain  her  health. 

"  But,"  he  told  Lloyd  as  he  bade  her  good-bye, 
"  I  don't  need  to  impress  upon  you  the  need  of  care 
and  the  greatest  vigilance ;  absolute  rest  is  the  only 
thing;  she  must  see  nobody,  not  even  her  father. 
The  whole  system  is  numbed  and  deadened  just  yet, 
but  there  will  be  a  change  either  for  better  or  worse 
some  time  to-night." 

For  thirty-six  hours  Lloyd  had  not  closed  an  eye, 
but  of  that  she  had  no  thought.  Her  supper  was 
sent  up  to  her,  and  she  prepared  herself  for  her 
night's  watch.  She  gave  the  child  such  nourish- 
ment as  she  believed  she  could  stand,  and  from  time 
to  time  took  her  pulse,  making  records  of  it  upon 
her  chart  for  the  surgeon's  inspection  later  on.  At 
intervals  she  took  Hattie's  temperature,  placing  the 
clinical  thermometer  in  the  armpit.  Toward  nine  in 
the  evening,  while  she  was  doing  this  for  the  third 
time  within  the  hour,  one  of  the  house  servants  came 
to  the  room  to  inform  her  that  she  was  wanted  on 
the  telephone.  Lloyd  hesitated,  unwilling  to  leave 
66 


A  Man's  Woman 

Hattie  for  an  instant.  However,  the  telephone  was 
close  at  hand,  and  it  was  quite  possible  that  Dr. 
Street  had  rung  her  up  to  ask  for  news. 

But  it  was  the  agency  that  had  called,  and  Miss 
Douglass  informed  her  that  a  telegram  had  arrived 
there  for  her  a  few  moments  before.  Should  she 
hold  it  or  send  it  to  her  by  Rownie  ?  Lloyd  reflected 
a  moment. 

"  Oh — open  it  and  read  it  to  me,"  she  said.  "  It's 
a  call,  isn't  it  ? — or — no ;  send  it  here  by  Rownie, 
and  send  my  hospital  slippers  with  her,  the  ones 
without  heels.  But  don't  ring  up  again  to-night; 
we're  expecting  a  crisis  almost  any  moment." 

Lloyd  returned  to  the  sick-room,  sent  away  the 
servant,  and  once  more  settled  herself  for  the  night. 
Hattie  had  roused  for  a  moment. 

"  Am  I  going  to  get  well,  am  I  going  to  get  well, 
Miss  Searight  ?  " 

Lloyd  put  her  ringer  to  her  lips,  nodding  her  head, 
and  Hattie  closed  her  eyes  again  with  a  long  breath. 
A  certain  great  tenderness  and  compassion  for  the 
little  girl  grew  big  in  Lloyd's  heart.  To  herself  she 
said: 

"  God  helping  me,  you  shall  get  well.  They  be- 
lieve in  me,  these  people — '  If  any  one  could  pull 
us  through  it  would  be  Miss  Searight.'  We  will 
1  pull  through,'  yes,  for  I'll  do  it." 

The  night  closed  down,  dark  and  still  and  very 
hot.  Lloyd,  regulating  the  sick-room's  ventilation, 
opened  one  of  the  windows  from  the  top.  The 
noises  of  the  City  steadily  decreasing  as  the  hours 
passed,  reached  her  ears  in  a  subdued,  droning  mur- 
mur. On  her  bed,  that  had  for  so  long  been  her 
67 


A  Man's  Woman 

bed  of  pain,  Hattie  lay  with  closed  eyes,  inert,  mo- 
tionless, hardly  seeming  to  breathe,  her  life  in  the 
balance;  unhappy  little  invalid,  wasted  with  suffer- 
ing, with  drawn,  pinched  face  and  bloodless  lips,  and 
at  her  side  Lloyd,  her  dull-blue  eyes  never  leaving 
her  patient's  face,  alert  and  vigilant,  despite  her 
long  wakefulness,  her  great  bronze-red  flame  of  hair 
rolling  from  her  forehead  and  temples,  the  sombre 
glow  in  her  cheeks  no  whit  diminished  by  her  day 
of  fatigue,  of  responsibility  and  untiring  activity. 

For  the  time  being  she  could  thrust  her  fear,  the 
relentless  Enemy  that  for  so  long  had  hung  upon 
her  heels,  back  and  away  from  her.  There  was 
another  Enemy  now  to  fight — or  was  it  another — 
was  it  not  the  same  Enemy,  the  very  same,  whose 
shadow  loomed  across  that  sickbed,  across  the  frail, 
small  body  and  pale,  drawn  face? 

With  her  pity  and  compassion  for  the  sick  child 
there  arose  in  Lloyd  a  certain  unreasoned,  intuitive 
obstinacy,  a  banding  together  of  all  her  powers  and 
faculties  in  one  great  effort  at  resistance,  a  stead- 
fastness under  great  stress,  a  stubbornness,  that 
shut  its  ears  and  eyes.  It  was  her  one  dominant 
characteristic  rising  up,  strong  and  insistent  the  in- 
stant she  knew  herself  to  be  thwarted  in  her  desires 
or  checked  in  a  course  she  believed  to  be  right  and 
good.  And  now  as  she  felt  the  advance  of  .the 
Enemy  and  saw  the  shadow  growing  darker  across 
the  bed  her  obstinacy  hardened  like  tempered  steel. 

"  No,"  she  murmured,  her  brows  levelled,  her  lips 
compressed,  "  she  shall  not  die.  I  will  not  let  her 
go." 

A  little  later,  perhaps  an  hour  after  midnight,  at  a 


A  Man's  Woman 

time  when  she  believed  Hattie  to  be  asleep,  Lloyd, 
watchful  as  ever,  noted  that  her  cheeks  began  alter- 
nately to  puff  out  and  contract  with  her  breathing. 
In  an  instant  the  nurse  was  on  her  feet.  She  knew 
the  meaning  of  this  sign.  Hattie  had  fainted  while 
asleep.  Lloyd  took  the  temperature.  It  was  fall- 
ing rapidly.  The  pulse  was  weak,  rapid,  and  irregu- 
lar. It  seemed  impossible  for  Hattie  to  take  a  deep 
breath. 

Then  swiftly  the  expected  crisis  began  to  develop 
itself.  Lloyd  ordered  Street  to  be  sent  for,  but  only 
as  a  matter  of  form.  Long  before  he  could  arrive 
the  issue  would  be  decided.  She  knew  that  now 
Hattie's  life  depended  on  herself  alone. 

"  Now,"  she  murmured,  as  though  the  Enemy  she 
fought  could  hear  her,  "  now  let  us  see  who  is  the 
stronger.  You  or  I." 

Swiftly  and  gently  she  drew  the  bed  from  the  wall 
and  raised  its  foot,  propping  it  in  position  with  half 
a  dozen  books.  Then,  while  waiting  for  the  ser- 
vants, whom  she  had  despatched  for  hot  blankets, 
administered  a  hypodermic  injection  of  brandy. 

"  We  will  pull  you  through,"  she  kept  saying  to 
herself,  "  we  will  pull  you  through.  I  shall  not  let 
you  go." 

The  Enemy  was  close  now,  and  the  fight  was  hand 
to  hand.  Lloyd  could  almost  feel,  physically,  ac- 
tually, feel  the  slow,  sullen,  resistless  pull  that  little 
by  little  was  dragging  Hattie's  life  from  her  grip. 
She  set  her  teeth,  holding  back  with  all  her  might, 
bracing  herself  against  the  strain,  refusing  with  all 
inborn  stubbornness  to  yield  her  position. 

"  No — no,"  she  repeated  to  herself,  "  you  shall 
69 


A  Man's  Woman 

not  have  her.  I  will  not  give  her  up ;  you  shall  not 
triumph  over  me." 

Campbell  was  in  the  room,  warned  by  the  omi- 
nous coming  and  going  of  hushed  footsteps. 

"  What  is  the  use,  nurse  ?  It's  all  over.  Let  her 
die  in  peace.  It's  too  cruel;  let  her  die  in  peace." 

The  half-hour  passed,  then  the  hour.  Once  more 
Lloyd  administered  hypodermically  the  second  dose 
of  brandy.  Campbell,  unable  to  bear  the  sight,  had 
withdrawn  to  the  adjoining  room,  where  he  could 
be  heard  pacing  the  floor.  From  time  to  time  he 
came  back  for  a  moment,  whispering : 

"  Will  she  live,  nurse  ?  Will  she  live  ?  Shall  we 
pull  her  through  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  Lloyd  told  him.  "  I  don't  know. 
Wait.  Go  back.  I  will  let  you  know." 

Another  fifteen  minutes  passed.  Lloyd  fancied 
that  the  heart's  action  was  growing  a  little  stronger. 
A  great  stillness  had  settled  over  the  house.  The 
two  servants  waiting  Lloyd's  orders  in  the  hall  out- 
side the  door  refrained  even  from  whispering. 
From  the  next  room  came  the  muffled  sound  of 
pacing  footsteps,  hurried,  irregular,  while  with  that 
strange  perversity  which  seizes  upon  the  senses  at 
moments  when  they  are  more  than  usually  acute 
Lloyd  began  to  be  aware  of  a  vague,  unwonted 
movement  in  the  Citv  itself,  outside  there  behind 
the  drawn  curtains  and  half-opened  window — a  faint, 
uncertain  agitation,  a  trouble,  a  passing  ripple  on 
the  still  black  pool  of  the  night,  coming  and  going, 
and  cominsr  again,  each  time  a  little  more  insistent. 
each  time  claiming  a  little  more  attention  and  notice. 
It  was  about  half  past  three  o'clock.  But  the  little 
70 


A  Man's  Woman 

patient's  temperature  was  rising — there  could  be  no 
doubt  about  that.  The  lungs  expanded  wider  and 
deeper.  Hattie's  breathing  was  unmistakably  easier ; 
and  as  Lloyd  put  her  fingers  to  the  wrist  she  could 
hardly  keep  back  a  little  exultant  cry  as  she  felt 
the  pulse  throbbing  fuller,  a  little  slower,  a  little 
more  regularly.  Now  she  redoubled  her  attention. 
Her  hold  upon  the  little  life  shut  tighter ;  her  power 
of  resistance,  her  strength  of  purpose,  seemed  to 
be  suddenly  quadrupled.  She  could  imagine  the 
Enemy  drawing  off;  she  could  think  that  the  grip 
of  cold  fingers  was  loosening. 

Slowly  the  crisis  passed  off,  slowly  the  reaction 
began.  Hattie  was  still  unconscious,  but  there  was 
a  new  look  upon  her  face — a  look  that  Lloyd  had 
learned  to  know  from  long  experience,  an  intangi- 
ble and  most  illusive  expression,  nothing,  some- 
thing, the  sign  that  only  those  who  are  trained  to 
search  for  it  may  see  and  appreciate — the  earliest 
faint  flicker  after  the  passing  of  the  shadow. 

"  Will  she  live,  will  she  live,  nurse  ?  "  came  Mr. 
Campbell's  whisper  at  her  shoulder. 

"  I  think — I  am  almost  sure — but  we  must  not 
be  too  certain  yet.  Still  there's  a  chance;  yes, 
there's  a  chance." 

Campbell,  suddenly  gone  white,  put  out  his  hand 
and  leaned  a  moment  against  the  mantelpiece.  He 
did  not  now  leave  the  room.  The  door-bell  rang. 

"  Dr.  Street,"  murmured  Lloyd. 

But  what  had  happened  in  the  City?  There  in 
the  still  dark  hours  of  that  hot  summer  night  an 
event  of  national,  perhaps  even  international,  im- 
portance had  surely  transpired.  It  was  in  the  air — 
7i 


A  Man's  Woman 

a  sense  of  a  Great  Thing  come  suddenly  to  a  head 
somewhere  in  the  world.  Footsteps  sounded  rapidly 
on  the  echoing  sidewalks.  Here  and  there  a  street 
door  opened.  From  corner  to  corner,  growing 
swiftly  nearer,  came  the  cry  of  newsboys  chanting 
extras.  A  subdued  excitement  was  abroad,  finding 
expression  in  a  vague  murmur,  the  mingling  of 
many  sounds  into  one  huge  note — a  note  that  gradu- 
ally swelled  and  grew  louder  and  seemed  to  be 
rising  from  all  corners  of  the  City  at  once. 

There  was  a  step  at  the  sick-room  door.  Dr. 
Street?  No,  Rownie — Rownie  with  two  telegrams 
for  Lloyd. 

Lloyd  took  them  from  her,  then  with  a  sharp, 
brusque  movement  of  her  head  and  suddenly 
smitten  with  an  idea,  turned  from  them  to  listen  to 
the  low,  swelling  murmur  of  the  City.  These  de- 
spatches— no,  they  were  no  "  call "  for  her.  She 
guessed  what  they  might  be.  Why  had  they  come 
to  her  now?  Why  was  there  this  sense  of  some 
great  tidings  in  the  wind?  The  same  tidings  that 
had  come  to  the  world  might  come  to  her — in  these 
despatches.  Might  it  not  be  so?  She  caught  her 
breath  quickly.  The  terror,  the  fearful  anxiety  that 
had  haunted  and  oppressed  her  for  so  long,  was  it 
to  be  lifted  now  at  last?  The  Enemy  that  lurked 
in  the  dark  corners,  ever  ready  to  clutch  her,  was  it 
to  be  driven  back  and  away  from  her  forever  ?  She 
dared  not  hope  for  it.  But  something  was  coming 
to  her ;  she  knew  it,  she  felt  it ;  something  was  pre- 
paring for  her,  coming  to  her  swifter  with  every 
second — coming,  coming,  coming  from  out  the 
north.  She  saw  Dr.  Street  in  the  room,  though 
72 


A  Man's  Woman 

how  and  when  he  had  arrived  she  could  not  after- 
ward recall.  Her  mind  was  all  alert,  intent  upon 
other  things,  listening,  waiting.  The  surgeon  had 
been  leaning  over  the  bed.  Suddenly  he  straight- 
ened up,  saying  aloud  to  Campbell : 

"  Good,  good,  we're  safe.  We  have  pulled 
through." 

Lloyd  tore  open  her  telegrams.  One  was  signed 
"  Bennett,"  the  other  "  Ferriss." 

"  Thank  God  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Campbell. 

"  Oh,"  cried  Lloyd,  a  great  sob  shaking  her  from 
head  to  heel,  a  smile  of  infinite  happiness  flashing 
from  her  face.  "  Oh — yes,  thank  God,  we — we  have 
pulled  through." 

"  Am  I  going  to  get  well,  am  I  going  to  get 
well,  Miss  Searight  ?  "  Hattie,  once  more  conscious, 
raised  her  voice  weak  and  faint. 

Lloyd  was  on  her  knees  beside  her,  her  head 
bent  over  her. 

"  Hush  ;  yes,  dear,  you  are  safe."  Then  the  royal 
bronze-red  hair  bent  lower  still.  The  dull-blue  eyes 
were  streaming  now,  the  voice  one  low  quiver  of 
sobs.  Tenderly,  gently  Lloyd  put  an  arm  about  the 
child,  her  head  bending  lower  and  lower.  Her 
cheek  touched  Hattie's.  For  a  moment  the  little 
girl,  frail,  worn,  pitifully  wasted,  and  the  strong, 
vigorous  woman,  with  her  imperious  will  and  in- 
domitable purpose,  rested  their  heads  upon  the  same 
pillow,  both  broken  with  suffering,  the  one  of  the 
body,  the  other  of  the  mind. 

"  Safe ;  yes,  dear,  safe,"  whispered  Llovd,  her  face 
all  but  hidden.     "  Safe,  safe,  and  saved  to  me.    Oh, 
dearest  of  all  the  world !  " 
73 


A  Man's  Woman 

And  then  to  her  ears  the  murmur  of  the  City 
seemed  to  leap  suddenly  to  articulate  words,  the 
clanging  thunder  of  the  entire  nation — the  whole 
round  world  thrilling  with  this  great  news  that  had 
come  to  it  from  out  the  north  in  the  small  hours  of 
this  hot  summer's  night.  And  the  chanting  cries  of 
the  street  rolled  to  her  like  the  tremendous  diapason 
of  a  gigantic  organ : 

"  Rescued,  rescued,  rescued  1 " 


IV. 


On  the  day  that  Lloyd  returned  to  the  house  on 
Calumet  Square  (Hattie's  recovery  being  long  since 
assured),  and  while  she  was  unpacking  her  valise 
and  settling  herself  again  in  her  room,  a  messenger 
boy  brought  her  a  note. 

Have  just  arrived  in  the  City.     When  may  I  see  you? 

BENNETT. 

News  of  Ward  Bennett  and  of  Richard  Ferriss 
had  not  been  wanting  during  the  past  fortnight  or 
so.  Their  names  and  that  of  the  ship  herself,  even 
the  names  of  Adler,  Hansen,  Clarke,  and  Dennison, 
even  Muck  Tu,  even  that  of  Kamiska,  the  one  sur- 
viving dog,  filled  the  mouths  and  minds  of  men  to 
the  exclusion  of  everything  else. 

The  return  of  the  expedition  after  its  long  im- 
prisonment in  the  ice  and  at  a  time  when  all  hope 
of  its  safety  had  been  abandoned  was  one  of  the 
great  events  of  that  year.  The  fact  that  the  expedi- 
tion had  failed  to  reach  the  Pole,  or  to  attain  any 
unusual  high  latitude,  was  forgotten  or  ignored. 
Nothing  was  remembered  but  the  masterly  retreat 
toward  Kolyuchin  Bay,  the  wonderful  march  over 
the  ice,  the  indomitable  courage,  unshaken  by  hard- 
ship, perils,  obstacles,  and  privations  almost  beyond 
imagination.  All  this,  together  with  a  multitude  of 
75 


A  Man's  Woman 

details,  some  of  them  palpably  fictitious,  the  press 
of  the  City  where  Bennett  and  Ferriss  both  had 
their  homes  published  and  republished  and  pub- 
lished again  and  again.  News  of  the  men,  their 
whereabouts  and  intentions,  invaded  the  sick-room 
— where  Lloyd  watched  over  the  convalescence  of 
her  little  patient — by  the  very  chinks  of  the  win- 
dows. 

Lloyd  learned  how  the  ship  had  been  "  nipped ;  " 
how,  after  inconceivable  toil,  the  members  of  the 
expedition  had  gained  the  land ;  how  they  had 
marched  southward  toward  the  Chuckch  settle- 
ments ;  how,  at  the  eleventh  hour,  the  survivors, 
exhausted  and  starving,  had  been  rescued  by  the 
steam  whalers ;  how  these  whalers  themselves  had 
been  caught  in  the  ice,  and  how  the  survivors  of 
the  Freja  had  been  obliged  to  spend  another  winter 
in  the  Arctic.  She  learned  the  details  of  their  final 
return.  In  the  quiet,  darkened  room  where  Hattie 
lay  she  heard  from  without  the  echo  of  the  thunder 
of  the  nations ;  she  saw  how  the  figure  of  Bennett 
towered  suddenly  magnificent  in  the  world;  how 
that  the  people  were  brusquely  made  aware  of  a 
new  hero.  She  learned  that  honours  came  throng- 
ing about  him  unsought ;  that  the  King  of  the  Bel- 
gians had  conferred  a  decoration  upon  him;  that 
the  geographical  societies  of  continental  Europe 
had  elected  him  to  honourary  membership ;  that  the 
President  and  the  Secretary  of  War  had  sent  tele- 
grams of  congratulations. 

"  And  what  does  he  do,"  she  murmured,  "  the 
first  of  all  upon  his  return  ?  Asks  to  see  me — me !  " 

She  sent  an  answer  to  his  note  by  the  same  boy 
76 


A  Man's  Woman 

who  brought  it,  naming  the  following  afternoon, 
explaining  that  two  days  later  she  expected  to  go 
into  the  country  to  a  little  town  called  Bannister  to 
take  her  annual  fortnight's  vacation. 

"  But  what  of — of  the  other  ?  "  she  murmured  as 
she  stood  at  the  window  of  her  room  watching 
the  messenger  boy  bicycling  across  the  square. 
"  Why  does  not  he — he,  too ?  " 

She  put  her  chin  in  the  air  and  turned  about,  look- 
ing abstractedly  at  the  rugs  on  the  parquetry. 

Lloyd's  vacation  had  really  begun  two  days  be- 
fore. Her  name  was  off  the  roster  of  the  house, 
and  till  the  end  of  the  month  her  time  was  her  own. 
The  afternoon  was  hot  and  very  still.  Even  in  the 
cool,  stone-built  agency,  with  its  windows  wide  and 
heavily  shaded  with  awnings,  the  heat  was  oppres- 
sive. For  a  long  time  Lloyd  had  been  shut  away 
from  fresh  air  and  the  sun,  and  now  she  suddenly 
decided  to  drive  out  in  the  City's  park.  She  rang 
up  her  stable  and  ordered  Lewis  to  put  her  ponies 
to  her  phaeton. 

She  spent  a  delightful  two  hours  in  the  great  park, 
losing  herself  in  its  farthest,  shadiest,  and  most  un- 
frequented corners.  She  drove  herself,  and  intelli- 
gently. Horses  were  her  passion,  and  not  Lewis 
himself  understood  their  care  and  management  bet- 
ter. Toward  the  cool  of  the  day  and  just  as  she 
had  pulled  the  ponies  down  to  a  walk  in  a  long, 
deserted  avenue  overspanned  with  elms  and  great 
cottonwoods  she  was  all  at  once  aware  of  an  open 
carriage  that  had  turned  into  the  far  end  of  the  same 
avenue  approaching  at  an  easy  trot.  It  drew  near, 
and  she  saw  that  its  only  occupant  was  a  man  lean- 
77 


A  Man's  Woman 

ing  back  rather  limply  in  the  cushions.  As  the  eye 
of  the  trained  nurse  fell  upon  him  she  at  once  placed 
him  in  the  category  of  convalescents  or  chronic  in- 
valids, and  she  was  vaguely  speculating  as  to  the 
nature  of  his  complaint  when  the  carriage  drew 
opposite  her  phaeton,  and  she  recognised  Richard 
Ferriss. 

Ferriss,  but  not  the  same  Ferriss  to  whom  she  had 
said  good-bye  on  that  never-to-be-forgotten  March 
afternoon,  with  its  gusts  and  rain,  four  long  years 
ago.  The  Ferriss  she  had  known  then  had  been 
an  alert,  keen  man,  with  quick,  bright  eyes,  alive 
to  every  impression,  responsive  to  every  sensation, 
living  his  full  allowance  of  life.  She  was  looking 
now  at  a  man  unnaturally  old,  of  deadened  nerves, 
listless.  As  he  caught  sight  of  her  and  recognised 
her  he  suddenly  roused  himself  with  a  quick,  glad 
smile  and  with  a  look  in  his  eyes  that  to  Lloyd  was 
unmistakable.  But  there  was  not  that  joyful,  exu- 
berant start  she  had  anticipated,  and,  for  that  mat- 
ter, wished.  Neither  did  Lloyd  set  any  too  great 
store  by  the  small  amenities  of  life,  but  that  Ferriss 
should  remain  covered  hurt  her  a  little.  She  won- 
dered how  she  could  note  so  trivial  a  detail  at  such 
a  moment.  But  this  was  Ferriss. 

Her  heart  was  beating  fast  and  thick  as  she  halted 
her  ponies.  The  driver  of  the  carriage  jumped 
down  and  held  the  door  for  Ferriss,  and  the  chief 
engineer  stepped  quickly  toward  her. 

So  it  was  they  met  after  four  years — and  such 
years — unexpectedly,  without  warning  or  prepara- 
tion, and  not  at  all  as  she  had  exnected.  What  they 
said  to  each  other  in  those  first  few  moments  Lloyd 
78 


A  Man's  Woman 

could  never  afterward  clearly  remember.  One  inci- 
dent alone  detached  itself  vividly  from  the  blur. 

"  I  have  just  come  from  the  square,"  Ferriss  had 
explained,  "  and  they  told  me  that  you  had  left  for  a 
drive  out  here  only  the  moment  before,  so  there 
was  nothing  for  it  but  to  come  after  you." 

"  Shan't  we  walk  a  little?  "  she  remembered  she 
had  asked  after  a  while.  "  We  can  have  the  car- 
riages wait;  or  do  you  feel  strong  enough?  I  for- 
got  " 

But  he  interrupted  her,  protesting  his  fitness. 

"  The  doctor  merely  sent  me  out  to  get  the  air, 
and  it's  humiliating  to  be  wheeled  about  like  an  old 
woman." 

Lloyd  passed  the  reins  back  of  her  to  Lewis,  and, 
gathering  her  skirts  about  her,  started  to  descend 
from  the  phaeton.  The  step  was  rather  high  from 
the  ground.  Ferriss  stood  close  by.  Why  did  he 
not  help  her  ?  Why  did  he  stand  there,  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  so  listless  and  unconscious  of  her  diffi- 
culty. A  little  glow  of  irritation  deepened  the  dull 
crimson  of  her  cheeks.  Even  returned  Arctic  ex- 
plorers could  not  afford  to  ignore  entirely  life's  little 
courtesies — and  he  of  all  men. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  expectantly  hesitating  before 
attempting  to  descend. 

Then  she  caught  Ferriss's  eyes  fixed  upon  her. 
He  was  smiling  a  little,  but  the  dull,  stupefied  ex- 
pression of  his  face  seemed  for  a  brief  instant  to  give 
place  to  one  of  great  sadness.  He  raised  a  shoulder 
resignedly,  and  Lloyd,  with  the  suddenness  of  a 
blow,  remembered  that  Ferriss  had  no  hands. 

She  dropped  back  in  the  seat  of  the  phaeton,  cov- 
79 


A  Man's  Woman 

ering  her  eyes,  shaken  and  unnerved  for  the  moment 
with  a  great  thrill  of  infinite  pity — of  shame  at  her 
own  awkwardness,  and  of  horror  as  for  one  brief 
Distant  the  smiling  summer  park,  the  afternoon's 
warmth,  the  avenue  of  green,  over-arching  trees,  the 
trim,  lacquered  vehicles  and  glossy-brown  horses 
were  struck  from  her  mind,  and  she  had  a  swift 
vision  of  the  Ice,  the  darkness  of  the  winter  night, 
the  lacerating,  merciless  cold,  the  blinding,  whirling, 
dust-like  snow. 

For  half  an  hour  they  walked  slowly  about  in  the 
park,  the  carriages  following  at  a  distance.  They 
did  not  talk  very  much.  It  seemed  to  Lloyd  that 
she  would  never  tire  of  scrutinising  his  face,  that 
her  interest  in  his  point  of  view,  his  opinions,  would 
never  flag.  He  had  had  an  experience  that  came 
but  to  few  men.  For  four  years  he  had  been  out  of 
the  world,  had  undergone  privation  beyond  concep- 
tion. What  now  was  to  be  his  attitude  ?  How  had 
he  changed?  That  he  had  not  changed  to  her 
Lloyd  knew  in  an  instant.  He  still  loved  her ;  that 
was  beyond  all  doubt.  But  this  terrible  apathy  that 
seemed  now  to  be  a  part  of  him !  She  had  heard  of 
the  numbing  stupor  that  invades  those  who  stay 
beyond  their  time  in  the  Ice,  but  never  before  had 
she  seen  it  in  its  reality.  It  was  not  a  lack  of  intelli- 
gence ;  it  seemed  rather  to  be  the  machinery  of  in- 
telligence rusted  and  clogged  from  long  disuse.  He 
deliberated  long  before  he  spoke.  It  took  him  some 
time  to  understand  things.  Speech  did  not  come 
to  him  readily,  and  he  became  easily  confused  in  the 
matter  of  words.  Once,  suddenly,  he  had  inter- 
rupted her,  breaking  out  with : 
80 


A  Man's  Woman 

"  Oh,  the  smell  of  the  trees,  of  the  grass !  Isn't 
it  wonderful ;  isn't  it  wonderful  ?  "  And  a  few 
seconds  later,  quite  irrelevantly :  "  And,  after  all,  we 
failed." 

At  once  Lloyd  was  all  aroused,  defending  him 
against  himself. 

"  Failed!  And  you  say  that?  If  you  did  not 
reach  the  Pole,  what  then?  The  world  will  judge 
you  by  results  perhaps,  and  the  world's  judgment 
will  be  wrong.  Is  it  nothing  that  you  have  given 
the  world  an  example  of  heroism " 

"  Oh,  don't  call  it  that." 

"Of  heroism,  of  courage,  of  endurance?  Is  it 
nothing  that  you  have  overcome  obstacles  before 
which  other  men  would  have  died?  Is  it  nothing 
that  you  have  shown  us  all  how  to  be  patient,  how 
to  be  strong?  There  are  some  things  better  even 
than  reaching  the  Pole.  To  suffer  and  be  calm  is 
one  of  them ;  not  to  give  up — never  to  be  beaten — 
is  another.  Oh,  if  I  were  a  man !  Ten  thousand, 
a  hundred  thousand  people  are  reading  to-night  of 
what  you  have  done — of  what  you  have  done,  you 
understand,  not  of  what  you  have  failed  to  do.  They 
have  seen — you  have  shown  them  what  the  man  can 
do  who  says  /  "will,  and  you  have  done  a  little  more, 
have  gone  a  little  further,  have  been  a  little  braver, 
a  little  hardier,  a  little  nobler,  a  little  more  deter- 
mined than  any  one  has  ever  been  before.  Who- 
ever fails  now  cannot  excuse  himself  by  saying  that 
he  has  done  as  much  as  a  man  can  do.  He  will  have 
to  remember  the  men  of  the  Freja.  He  will  have 
to  remember  you.  Don't  you  suppose  I  am  proud 
of  you;  don't  you  suppose  that  I  am  stronger  and 
6  8z 


A  Man's  Woman 

better  because  of  what  you  have  done?  Do  you 
think  it  is  nothing  for  me  to  be  sitting  here  beside 
you,  here  in  this  park — to  be — yes,  to  be  with  you  ? 
Can't  you  understand?  Isn't  it  something  to  me 
that  you  are  the  man  you  are ;  not  the  man  whose 
name  the  people  are  shouting  just  now,  not  the  man 
to  whom  a  king  gave  a  bit  of  ribbon  and  enamel, 
but  the  man  who  lived  like  a  man,  who  would  not 
die  just  because  it  was  easier  to  die  than  to  live, 
who  fought  like  a  man,  not  only  for  himself  but  for 
the  lives  of  those  he  led,  who  showed  us  all  how  to  be 
^strong,  and  how  strong  one  could  be  if  one  would 
only  try?  What  does  the  Pole  amount  to?  The 
world  wants  men,  great,  strong,  harsh,  brutal  men — 
men  with  purposes,  who  let  nothing,  nothing,  noth- 
ing stand  in  their  way." 

"  You  mean  Bennett,"  said  Ferriss,  looking  up 
quickly.  "  You  commenced  by  speaking  of  me, 
but  it's  Bennett  you  are  talking  of  now." 

But  he  caught  her  glance  and  saw  that  she  was 
looking  steadfastly  at  him — at  him.  A  look  was  in 
her  face,  a  light  in  her  dull-blue  eyes,  that  he  had 
never  seen  there  before. 

"  Lloyd,"  he  said  quietly,  "  which  one  of  us,  Ben- 
nett or  I,  were  you  speaking  of  just  then?  You 
know  what  I  mean ;  which  one  of  us  ?  " 

"  I  was  speaking  of  the  man  who  was  strong 
enough  to  do  great  things,"  she  said. 

Ferriss  drew  the  stumps  of  his  arms  from  his 
pockets  and  smiled  at  them  grimly. 

"  H'm,  can  one  do  much — this  way?"  he  mut- 
tered. 

With  a  movement  she  did  not  try  to  restrain 
82 


A  Man's  Woman 

Lloyd  put  both  her  hands  over  his  poor,  shapeless 
wrists.  Never  in  her  life  had  she  been  so  strongly 
moved.  Pity,  such  as  she  had  never  known,  a  ten- 
derness and  compassion  such  as  she  had  never  ex- 
perienced, went  knocking  at  her  breast.  She  had 
no  words  at  hand  for  so  great  emotions.  She  longed 
to  tell  him  what  was  in  her  heart,  but  all  speech 
failed. 

"  Don't !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Don't !  I  will  not 
have  you." 

A  little  later,  as  they  were  returning  toward  the 
carriages,  Lloyd,  after  a  moment's  deliberation  upon 
the  matter,  said : 

"  Can't  I  set  you  down  somewhere  near  your 
rooms  ?  Let  your  carriage  go." 

He  shook  his  head :  "  I've  just  given  up  my 
downtown  rooms.  Bennett  and  I  have  taken  other 
rooms  much  farther  uptown.  In  fact,  I  believe  I  am 
supposed  to  be  going  there  now.  It  would  be  quite 
out  of  your  way  to  take  me  there.  We  are  much 
quieter  out  there,  and  people  can't  get  at  us  so 
readily.  The  doctor  says  we  both  need  rest  after 
our  shaking  up.  Bennett  himself — iron  as  he  is — 
is  none  too  strong,  and  what  with  the  mail,  the  tele- 
grams, reporters,  deputations,  editors,  and  visitors, 
and  the  like,  we  are  kept  on  something  of  a  strain. 
Besides  we  have  still  a  good  deal  of  work  to  do  get- 
ting our  notes  into  shape." 

Lewis  brought  the  ponies  to  the  edge  of  the  walk, 
and  Lloyd  and  Ferriss  separated,  she  turning  the 
ponies'  heads  homeward,  starting  away  at  a  brisk 
trot,  and  leaving  him  in  his  carriage,  which  he  had 
directed  to  carry  him  to  his  new  quarters. 


A  Man's  Woman 

But  at  the  turn  of  the  avenue  Lloyd  leaned  from 
the  phaeton  and  looked  back.  The  carriage  was 
just  disappearing  down  the  vista  of  elms  and  cotton- 
woods.  She  waved  her  hand  gayly,  and  Ferriss 
responded  with  the  stump  of  one  forearm. 

On  the  next  day  but  one,  a  Friday,  Lloyd  was  to 
go  to  the  country.  Every  year  in  the  heat  of  the 
summer  Lloyd  spent  her  short  vacation  in  the  sleepy 
and  old-fashioned  little  village  of  Bannister.  The 
country  around  the  village  was  part  of  the  Searight 
estate.  It  was  quiet,  off  the  railroad,  just  the  place 
to  forget  duties,  responsibilities,  and  the  wearing 
anxieties  of  sick-rooms.  But  Thursday  afternoon 
she  expected  Bennett. 

Thursday  morning  she  was  in  her  room.  Her 
trunk  was  already  packed.  There  was  nothing  more 
to  be  done.  She  was  off  duty.  There  was  neither 
care  nor  responsibility  upon  her  mind.  But  she 
was  too  joyful,  too  happily  exalted,  too  exuberant 
in  gayety  to  pass  her  time  in  reading.  She  wanted 
action,  movement,  life,  and  instinctively  threw  open 
a  window  of  her  room,  and,  according  to  her  habit, 
leaned  upon  her  elbows  and  looked  out  and  down 
upon  the  square.  The  morning  was  charming. 
Later  in  the  day  it  probably  would  be  very  hot,  but 
as  yet  the  breeze  of  the  earliest  hours  was  stirring 
nimbly.  The  cool  of  it  put  a  brisker  note  in  the 
sombre  glow  of  her  cheeks,  and  just  stirred  a  lock 
that,  escaping  from  her  gorgeous  coils  of  dark-red 
hair,  hung  curling  over  her  ear  and  neck.  Into  her 
eyes  of  dull  blue — like  the  blue  of  old  china — the 
morning's  sun  sent  an  occasional  unwonted  sparkle. 
Over  the  asphalt  and  over  the  green  grass-plots  of 
84 


A  Man's  Woman 

the  square  the  shadows  of  the  venerable  elms  wove 
a  shifting  maze  of  tracery.  Traffic  avoided  the 
place.  It  was  invariably  quiet  in  the  square,  and 
one — as  now — could  always  hear  the  subdued  ripple 
and  murmur  of  the  fountain  in  the  centre. 

But  the  crowning  delight  of  that  morning  was  the 
sudden  appearance  of  a  robin  in  a  tree  close  to 
Lloyd's  window.  He  was  searching  his  breakfast. 
At  every  moment  he  came  and  went  between  the 
tree-tops  and  the  grass-plots,  very  important,  very 
preoccupied,  chittering  and  calling  the  while,  as 
though  he  would  never  tire.  Lloyd  whistled  to  him, 
and  instantly  he  answered,  cocking  his  head  side- 
ways. She  whistled  again,  and  he  piped  back  an 
impudent  response,  and  for  quite  five  minutes  the 
two  held  an  elaborate  altercation  between  tree-top 
and  window-ledge.  Lloyd  caught  herself  laughing 
outright  and  aloud  for  no  assignable  reason.  "  Ah, 
the  world  was  a  pretty  good  place  after  all !  " 

A  little  later,  and  while  she  was  still  at  the  win- 
dow, Rownie  brought  her  a  note  from  Bennett,  sent 
by  special  messenger. 

Ferriss  woke  up  sick  this  morning.  Nobody  here  but 
the  two  of  us;  can't  leave  him  alone.  BENNETT. 

"  Oh !  "  exclaimed  Lloyd  Searight  a  little  blankly. 

The  robin  and  his  effrontery  at  once  ceased  to 
be  amusing.  She  closed  the  window  abruptly,  shut- 
ting out  the  summer  morning's  gayety  and  charm, 
turning  her  back  upon  the  sunlight. 

Now  she  was  more  in  the  humour  of  reading. 
On  the  great  divan  against  the  wall  lay  the  month's 
85 


A  Man's  Woman 

magazines  and  two  illustrated  weeklies.  Lloyd  had 
bought  them  to  read  on  the  train.  But  now  she 
settled  herself  upon  the  divan  and,  picking  up  one 
of  the  weeklies,  turned  its  leaves  listlessly.  All  at 
once  she  came  upon  two  pictures  admirably  repro- 
duced from  photographs,  and  serving  as  illustra- 
tions to  the  weekly's  main  article — "  The  Two 
Leaders  of  the  Freja  Expedition."  One  was  a  pic- 
ture of  Bennett,  the  other  of  Ferriss. 

The  suddenness  with  which  she  had  come  upon 
his  likeness  almost  took  Lloyd's  breath  from  her. 
It  was  the  last  thing  she  had  expected.  If  he  him- 
self had  abruptly  entered  the  room  in  person  she 
could  hardly  have  been  more  surprised.  Her  heart 
gave  a  great  leap,  the  dull  crimson  of  her  cheeks 
shot  to  her  forehead.  Then,  with  a  charming  move- 
ment, at  once  impulsive  and  shamefaced,  smiling 
the  while,  her  eyes  half-closing,  she  laid  her  cheek 
upon  the  picture,  murmuring  to  herself  words  that 
only  herself  should  hear.  The  next  day  she  left 
for  the  country. 

On  that  same  day  when  Dr.  Pitts  arrived  at  the 
rooms  Ferriss  and  Bennett  had  taken  he  found  the 
anteroom  already  crowded  with  visitors — a  knot  of 
interviewers,  the  manager  of  a  lecture  bureau,  as 
well  as  the  agent  of  a  patented  cereal  (who  sought 
the  man  of  the  hour  for  an  endorsement  of  his  arti- 
cle), and  two  female  reporters. 

Decidedly  Richard  Ferriss  was  ill;  there  could 
be  no  doubt  about  that.  Bennett  had  not  slept  the 
night  before,  but  had  gone  to  and  fro  about  the 
rooms  tending  to  his  wants  with  a  solicitude  and  a 
gentleness  that  in  a  man  so  harsh  and  so  toughly 
86 


A  Man's  Woman 

fibred  seemed  strangely  out  of  place.  Bennett  was 
far  from  well  himself.  The  terrible  milling  which 
he  had  undergone  had  told  even  upon  that  enor- 
mous frame,  but  his  own  ailments  were  promptly 
ignored  now  that  Ferriss,  the  man  of  all  men  to  him, 
was  "  down." 

"  I  didn't  pull  through  with  you,  old  man,"  he 
responded  to  all  of  Ferriss's  protests,  "  to  have  you 
get  sick  on  my  hands  at  this  time  of  day.  No  more 
of  your  damned  foolishness  now.  Here's  the  qui- 
nine. Down  with  it !  " 

Bennett  met  Pitts  at  the  door  of  Ferriss's  room, 
and  before  going  in  drew  him  into  a  corner. 

"  He's  a  sick  boy,  Pitts,  and  is  going  to  be  worse, 
though  he's  just  enough  of  a  fool  boy  not  to  admit 
it.  I've  seen  them  start  off  this  gait  before.  Re- 
member, too,  when  you  look  him  over  that  it's  not 
as  though  he  had  been  in  a  healthy  condition  before. 
Our  work  in  the  ice  ground  him  down  about  as  fine 
as  he  could  go  and  yet  live,  and  the  hardtack  and 
salt  pork  on  the  steam  whalers  were  not  a  good 
diet  for  a  convalescent.  And  see  here,  Pitts,"  said 
Bennett,  clearing  his  throat,  "  I — well,  I'm  rather 
fond  of  that  fool  boy  in  there.  We  are  not  taking 
any  chances,  you  understand." 

After  the  doctor  had  seen  the  chief  engineer  and 
had  prescribed  calomel  and  a  milk  diet,  Bennett  fol- 
lowed him  out  into  the  hall  and  accompanied  him 
to  the  door. 

"Verdict?"  he  demanded,  fixing  the  physician 
intently  with  his  small,  distorted  eyes.  But  Pitts 
was  non-committal. 

"  Yes,  he's  a  sick  boy,  but  the  thing,  whatever  it 
87 


A  Man's  Woman 

is  going  to  be,  has  been  gathering  slowly.  He  com- 
plains of  headache,  great  weakness  and  nausea,  and 
you  speak  of  frequent  nose-bleeds  during  the  night. 
The  abdomen  is  tender  upon  pressure,  which  is  a 
symptom  I  would  rather  not  have  found.  But  I 
can't  make  any  positive  diagnosis  as  yet.  Some  big 
sickness  is  coming  on — that,  I  am  afraid,  is  certain. 
I  shall  come  out  here  to-morrow.  But,  Mr.  Bennett, 
be  careful  of  yourself.  Even  steel  can  weaken,  you 
know.  You  see  this  rabble  "  (he  motioned  with 
his  head  toward  the  anteroom,  where  the  other 
visitors  were  waiting)  "  that  is  hounding  you  ? 
Everybody  knows  where  you  are.  Man,  you  must 
have  rest.  I  don't  need  to  look  at  you  more  than 
once  to  know  that.  Get  away !  Get  away  even  from 
your  mails !  Hide  from  everybody  for  a  while ! 
Don't  think  you  can  nurse  your  friend  through  these 
next  few  weeks,  because  you  can't." 

"  Well,"  answered  Bennett,  "  wait  a  few  days. 
We'll  see  by  the  end  of  the  week." 

The  week  passed.  Ferriss  went  gradually  from 
bad  to  worse,  though  as  yet  the  disease  persistently 
refused  to  declare  itself.  He  was  quite  helpless,  and 
Bennett  watched  over  him  night  and  day,  pottering 
around  him  by  the  hour,  giving  him  his  medicines, 
cooking  his  food,  and  even  when  Ferriss  complained 
of  the  hotness  of  the  bedclothes,  changing  the  very 
linen  that  he  might  lie  upon  cool  sheets.  But  at 
the  end  of  the  week  Dr.  Pitts  declared  that  Bennett 
himself  was  in  great  danger  of  breaking  down,  and 
was  of  no  great  service  to  the  sick  man. 

"  To-morrow,"  said  the  doctor,  "  I  shall  have  a 
young  fellow  here  who  happens  to  be  a  cousin  of 


A  Man's  Woman 

mine.  He  is  an  excellent  trained  nurse,  a  fellow  we 
can  rely  upon.  He'll  take  your  place.  I'll  have 
him  here  to-morrow,  and  you  must  get  away.  Hide 
somewhere.  Don't  even  allow  your  mail  to  be  for- 
warded. The  nurse  and  I  will  take  care  of  Mr. 
Ferriss.  You  can  leave  me  your  address,  and  I  will 
wire  you  if  it  is  necessary.  Now  be  persuaded  like 
a  reasonable  man.  I  will  stake  my  professional 
reputation  that  you  will  knock  under  if  you  stay 
here  with  a  sick  man  on  your  hands  and  newspaper 
men  taking  the  house  by  storm  at  all  hours  of  the 
day.  Come  now,  will  you  go?  Mr.  Ferriss  is  in 
no  danger,  and  you  will  do  him  more  harm  by  stay- 
ing than  by  going.  So  long  as  you  remain  here 
you  will  have  this  raft  of  people  in  the  rooms  at  all 
hours.  Deny  yourself!  Keep  them  out!  Keep 
out  the  American  reporter  when  he  goes  gunning 
for  a  returned  explorer!  Do  you  think  this,"  and 
he  pointed  again  to  the  crowd  in  the  anteroom,  "  is 
the  right  condition  for  a  sick  man's  quarters  ?  You 
are  imperilling  his  safety,  to  say  nothing  of  your 
own,  by  staying  beside  him — you  draw  the  fire,  Mr. 
Bennett" 

"  Well,  there's  something  in  that,"  muttered  Ben- 
nett, pulling  at  his  mustache.  "  But — "  Bennett 
hesitated,  then :  "  Pitts,  I  want  you  to  take  my 
place  here  if  I  go  away.  Have  a  nurse  if  you  like, 
but  I  shouldn't  feel  justified  in  leaving  the  boy  in  his 
condition  unless  I  knew  you  were  with  him  con- 
tinually. I  don't  know  what  your  practice  is  worth 
to  you,  say  for  a  month,  or  until  the  boy  is  out  of 
danger,  but  make  me  a  proposition.  I  think  we  can 
come  to  an  understanding." 
89 


A  Man's  Woman 

"  But  it  won't  be  necessary  to  have  a  doctor  with 
Mr.  Ferriss  constantly.  I  should  see  him  every 
day  and  the  nurse " 

Bennett  promptly  overrode  his  objections. 
Harshly  and  abruptly  he  exclaimed :  "  I'm  not 
taking  any  chances.  It  shall  be  as  I  say.  I  want 
the  boy  well,  and  I  want  you  and  the  nurse  to  see 
to  it  that  he  gets  well.  I'll  meet  the  expenses." 

Bennett  did  not  hear  the  doctor's  response  and 
his  suggestion  as  to  the  advisability  of  taking  Fer- 
riss to  his  own  house  in  the  country  while  he  could 
be  moved.  For  the  moment  he  was  not  listening. 
An  idea  had  abruptly  presented  itself  to  him.  He 
was  to  go  to  the  country.  But  where?  A  grim 
smile  began  to  relax  the  close-gripped  lips  and 
the  hard  set  of  the  protruding  jaw.  He  tugged 
again  at  his  mustache,  scowling  at  the  doctor,  trying 
to  hide  his  humour. 

"  Well,  that's  settled  then,"  he  said ;  "  I'll  get  away 
to-morrow — somewhere." 

"  Whereabouts  ?  "  demanded  the  doctor.  "  I  shall 
want  to  let  you  know  how  we  progress." 

Bennett  chose  to  feel  a  certain  irritation.  What 
business  of  Pitts  was  it  whom  he  went  to  see,  or, 
rather,  where  he  meant  to  go? 

"  You  told  me  to  hide  away  from  everybody,  not 
even  to  allow  my  mail  to  be  forwarded.  But  I'll  let 
you  know  where  to  reach  me,  of  course,  as  soon  as 
I  get  there.  It  won't  be  far  from  town." 

"  And  I  will  take  your  place  here  with  Mr.  Fer- 
riss ;  somebody  will  be  with  him  at  every  moment, 
and  I  shall  only  wire  you,"  continued  the  doctor, 
"  in  case  of  urgent  necessity.  I  want  you  to  have 

qo 


A  Man's  Woman 

all  the  rest  you  can,  and  stay  away  as  long  as  possi- 
ble. I  shan't  annoy  you  with  telegrams  unless  I 
must.  You'll  understand  that  no  news  is  good 

news." 

On  that  particular  i  lorning  Lloyd  sat  in  her  room 
in  the  old  farmhouse  that  she  always  elected  to  call 
her  home  as  often  as  she  visited  Bannister.  It  was 
some  quarter  of  a  mile  outside  the  little  village,  and 
on  the  road  that  connected  it  with  the  railway  at 
Fourth  Lake,  some  six  miles  over  the  hills  to  the 
east.  It  was  yet  early  in  the  morning,  and  Lloyd 
was  writing  letters  that  she  would  post  at  Fourth 
Lake  later  in  the  forenoon.  She  intended  driving 
over  to  the  lake.  Two  days  before,  Lewis  had  ar- 
rived with  Rox,  the  ponies  and  the  phaeton.  Lloyd's 
dog-cart,  a  very  gorgeous,  high-wheeled  affair,  was 
always  kept  at  Bannister. 

The  room  in  which  she  now  sat  was  delightful. 
Everything  was  white,  from  the  curtains  of  the  bed 
to  the  chintz  hangings  on  the  walls.  A  rug  of  white 
fur  was  on  the  floor.  The  panellings  and  wooden 
shutters  of  the  windows  were  painted  white.  The 
fireplace  was  set  in  glossy-white  tiles,  and  its  open- 
ing covered  with  a  screen  of  white  feathers.  The 
windows  were  flung  wide,  and  a  great  flood  of  white 
sunlight  came  pouring  into  the  room.  Lloyd  her- 
self was  dressed  in  white,  from  the  clean,  crisp  scarf 
tied  about  her  neck  to  the  tip  of  her  canvas  tennis 
shoes.  And  in  all  this  array  of  white  only  the  dull- 
red  flame  of  her  high-piled  hair — in  the  sunshine 
glowing  like  burnished  copper — set  a  vivid  note  of 
colour,  the  little  strands  and  locks  about  her  neck 


A  Man's  Woman 

and  ears  coruscating  as  the  breeze  from  the  open 
windows  stirred  them. 

The  morning  was  veritably  royal — still,  cool,  and 
odorous  of  woods  and  cattle  and  growing  grass.  A 
great  sense  of  gayety,  of  exhilaration,  was  in  the  air. 
Lloyd  was  all  in  tune  with  it.  While  she  wrote  her 
left  elbow  rested  on  the  table,  and  in  her  left  hand 
she  held  a  huge,  green  apple,  unripe,  sour,  delicious 
beyond  words,  and  into  which  she  bit  from  time  to 
time  with  the  silent  enjoyment  of  a  schoolgirl. 

Her  letter  was  to  Hattie's  father,  Mr.  Campbell, 
and  she  wrote  to  ask  if  the  little  girl  might  not  spend 
a  week  with  her  at  Bannister.  When  the  letter  was 
finished  and  addressed  she  thrust  it  into  her  belt, 
and,  putting  on  her  hat,  ran  downstairs.  Lewis 
had  brought  the  dog-cart  to  the  gate,  and  stood  wait- 
ing in  the  road  by  Rox's  head.  But  as  Lloyd  went 
down  the  brick-paved  walk  of  the  front  yard  Mrs. 
Applegate,  who  owned  the  farmhouse,  and  who  was 
at  once  Lloyd's  tenant,  landlady,  housekeeper,  and 
cook,  appeared  on  the  porch  of  the  house,  the  head 
of  a  fish  in  her  hand,  and  Charley- Joe,  the  yellow 
tomcat,  at  her  heels,  eyeing  her  with  painful  intent- 
ness. 

"  Say,  Miss  Searight,"  she  called,  her  forearm 
across  her  forehead  to  shade  her  eyes,  the  hand  still 
holding  the  fish's  head,  "  say,  while  you're  out  this 
morning  will  you  keep  an  eye  out  for  that  dog  of 
our'n — you  know,  Dan — the  one  with  liver'n  white 
spots?  He's  run  off  again — ain't  seen  him  since 
yesterday  noon.  He  gets  away  an'  goes  off  fight- 
ing other  dogs  over  the  whole  blessed  county. 
There  ain't  a  dog  big  'r  little  within  ten  mile  that 
92 


A  Man's  Woman 

Dan  ain't  licked.     He'd  sooner  fight  than  he  would 
eat,  that  dog." 

"  I  will,  I  will,"  answered  Lloyd,  climbing  to  the 
high  seat,  "  and  if  I  find  him  I  shall  drag  him  back 
by  the  scruff  of  his  neck.  Good-morning,  Lewis. 
Why  have  you  put  the  overhead  check  on  Rox  ?  " 

Lewis  touched  his  cap. 

"  He  feels  his  oats  some  this  morning,  and  if  he 
gets  his  lower  jaw  agin'  his  chest  there's  no  hold- 
ing of  him,  Miss — no  holding  of  him  in  the  world." 

Lloyd  gathered  up  the  reins  and  spoke  to  the 
horse,  and  Lewis  stood  aside. 

Rox  promptly  went  up  into  the  air  on  his  hind 
legs,  shaking  his  head  with  a  great  snort. 

"  Steady,  you  old  pig,"  said  Lloyd,  calmly.  "  Soh, 
soh,  who's  trying  to  kill  you?  " 

"  Hadn't  I  better  come  with  you,  Miss  ? "  in- 
quired Lewis  anxiously.  • 

Lloyd  shook  her  head.  "  No,  indeed,"  she  said 
decisively. 

Rox,  after  vindicating  his  own  independence  by 
the  proper  amount  of  showing  off,  started  away 
down  the  road  with  as  high  an  action  as  he  could 
command,  playing  to  the  gallery,  looking  back  and 
out  of  the  tail  of  his  eye  to  see  if  Lewis  observed 
what  a  terrible  fellow  he  was  that  morning. 

"  Well,  of  all  the  critters !  "  commented  Mrs. 
Applegate  from  the  porch.  But  Charley- Joe,  with 
an  almost  hypnotic  fixity  in  his  yellow  eyes,  and 
who  during  the  last  few  minutes  had  several  times 
opened  his  mouth  wide  in  an  ineffectual  attempt  to 
mew,  suddenly  found  his  voice  with  a  prolonged 
and  complaining  note. 

93 


A  Man's  Woman 

"  Well,  heavens  an'  airth,  take  your  fish,  then !  " 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Applegate  suddenly,  remembering 
the  cat.  "  An'  get  off'n  my  porch  with  it."  She 
pushed  him  away  with  the  side  of  her  foot,  and 
Charley-Joe,  with  the  fish's  head  in  his  teeth,  retired 
around  the  corner  of  the  house  by  the  rain  barrel, 
where  at  intervals  he  could  be  heard  growling  to 
himself  in  a  high-pitched  key,  pretending  the  ap- 
proach of  some  terrible  enemy. 

Meanwhile  Lloyd,  already  well  on  her  way,  was 
having  an  exciting  tussle  with  Rox.  The  horse  had 
begun  by  making  an  exhibition  of  himself  for  all 
who  could  see,  but  in  the  end  he  had  so  worked  upon 
his  own  nerves  that  instead  of  frightening  others 
he  only  succeeded  in  terrifying  himself.  He  was 
city-bred,  and  the  sudden  change  from  brick  houses 
to  open  fields  had  demoralised  him.  He  began  to 
have  a  dim  consciousness  of  just  how  strong  he  was. 
There  was  nothing  vicious  about  him.  He  would 
not  have  lowered  himself  to  kick,  but  he  did  want, 
with  all  the  big,  strong  heart  of  him,  to  run. 

But  back  of  him  there — he  felt  it  thrilling  along 
the  tense-drawn  reins — was  a  calm,  powerful  grip, 
even,  steady,  masterful.  Turn  his  head  he  could 
not,  but  he  knew  very  well  that  Lloyd  had  taken  a 
double  twist  upon  the  reins,  and  that  her  hands,  even 
if  they  were  gloved  in  white,  were  strong — strong 
enough  to  hold  him  to  his  work.  And  besides  this 
— he  could  tell  it  by  the  very  feel  of  the  bit — he  knew 
that  she  did  not  take  him  very  seriously,  that  he 
could  not  make  her  afraid  of  him.  He  knew  that 
she  could  tell  at  once  whether  he  shied  because  he 
was  really  frightened  or  because  he  wanted  to  break 
'  94 


A  Man's  Woman 

the  shaft,  and  that  in  the  latter  case  he  would  get 
the  whip — and  mercilessly,  too — across  his  haunch, 
a  degradation,  above  all  things,  to  be  avoided.  And 
she  had  called  him  an  old  pig  once  already  that 
morning. 

Lloyd  drove  on.  She  keenly  enjoyed  this  struggle 
between  the  horse's  strength  and  her  own  deter- 
mination, her  own  obstinacy.  No,  she  would  not 
let  Rox  have  his  way;  she  would  not  allow  him  to 
triumph  over  her  for  a  single  moment.  She  would 
neither  be  forced  nor  tricked  into  yielding  a  single 
point  however  small.  She  would  be  mistress  of  the 
situation. 

By  the  end  of  half  an  hour  she  had  him  well  in 
hand,  and  was  bowling  smoothly  along  a  level  stretch 
of  road  at  the  foot  of  an  abrupt  rise  of  land  covered 
with  scrub  oak  and  broken  with  outcroppings  of 
granite  of  a  curious  formation.  Just  beyond  here 
the  road  crossed  the  canal  by  a  narrow — in  fact,  a 
much  too  narrow — plank  bridge  without  guard- 
rails. The  wide-axled  dog-cart  had  just  sufficient 
room  on  either  hand,  and  Lloyd,  too  good  a  whip 
to  take  chances  with  so  nervous  a  horse  as  Rox, 
drew  him  down  to  a  walk  as  she  approached  it.  But 
of  a  sudden  her  eyes  were  arrested  by  a  curious 
sight.  She  halted  the  cart. 

At  the  roadside,  some  fifty  yards  from  the  plank 
bridge,  were  two  dogs.  Evidently  there  had  just 
been  a  dreadful  fight.  Here  and  there  a  stone  was 
streaked  with  blood.  The  grass  and  smaller  bushes 
were  flattened  out,  and  tufts  of  hair  were  scattered 
about  upon  the  ground.  Of  the  two  dopfs,  Lloyd 
recognised  one  upon  the  instant.  It  was  Dan,  the 
95 


A  Man's  Woman 

"  liver'n  white  "  fox-hound  of  the  farmhouse — the 
fighter  and  terror  of  the  country.  But  he  was  lying 
upon  his  side  now,  the  foreleg  broken,  or  rather 
crushed,  as  if  in  a  vise ;  the  throat  torn  open,  the  life- 
blood  in  a  great  pool  about  his  head  He  was  dead, 
or  in  the  very  throes  of  death.  Poor  Dan,  he  had 
fought  his  last  fight,  had  found  more  than  his  match 
at  last. 

Lloyd  looked  at  the  other  dog — the  victor ;  then 
looked  at  him  a  second  time  and  a  third. 

"  Well,"  she  murmured,  "  that's  a  strange-look- 
ing dog." 

In  fact,  he  was  a  curious  animal.  His  broad, 
strong  body  was  covered  with  a  brown  fur  as  dense, 
as  thick,  and  as  soft  as  a  wolf's ;  the  ears  were  pricked 
and  pointed,  the  muzzle  sharp,  the  eyes  slant  and 
beady.  The  breast  was  disproportionately  broad, 
the  forelegs  short  and  apparently  very  powerful. 
Around  his  neck  was  a  broad  nickelled  collar. 

But  as  Lloyd  sat  in  the  cart  watching  him  he 
promptly  demonstrated  the  fact  that  his  nature  was 
as  extraordinary  as  his  looks.  He  turned  again 
from  a  momentary  inspection  of  the  intruders, 
sniffed  once  or  twice  at  his  dead  enemy,  then  sud- 
denly began  to  eat  him. 

Lloyd's  gorge  rose  with  anger  and  disgust.  Even 
if  Dan  had  been  killed,  it  had  been  in  fair  fight,  and 
there  could  be  no  doubt  that  Dan  himself  had  been 
the  aggressor.  She  could  even  feel  a  little  respect 
for  the  conqueror  of  the  champion,  but  to  turn  upon 
the  dead  foe,  now  that  the  heat  of  battle  was  past, 
and  (in  no  spirit  of  hate  or  rage)  deliberately  to  eat 
him.  What  a  horror !  She  took  out  her  whip. 
96 


A  Man's  Woman 

"  Shame  on  you!  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Ugh !  what 
a  savage ;  I  shan't  allow  you ! '" 

A  farm-hand  was  coming  across  the  plank  bridge, 
and  as  he  drew  near  the  cart  Lloyd  asked  him  to 
hold  Rox  for  a  moment.  Rox  was  one  of  those 
horses  who,  when  standing  still,  are  docile  as  a 
kitten,  and  she  had  no  hesitancy  in  leaving  him  with 
a  man  at  his  head.  She  jumped  out,  the  whip  in  her 
hand.  Dan  was  beyond  all  help,  but  she  wanted  at 
least  to  take  his  collar  back  to  Mrs.  Applegate.  The 
strange  dog  permitted  himself  to  be  driven  off  a 
little  distance.  Part  of  his  strangeness  seemed  to 
be  that  through  it  all  he  retained  a  certain  placidity 
of  temper.  There  was  no  ferocity  in  his  desire  to 
eat  Dan. 

"  That's  just  what  makes  it  so  disgusting,"  said 
Lloyd,  shaking  her  whip  at  him.  He  sat  down  upon 
his  haunches,  eyeing  her  calmly,  his  tongue  loll- 
ing. When  she  had  unbuckled  Dan's  collar  and 
tossed  it  into  the  cart  under  the  seat  she  inqu'red 
of  the  farm-hand  as  to  where  the  new  dog  came 
from. 

"  It  beats  me,  Miss  Searight,"  he  answered  ; 
"  never  saw  such  a  bird  in  these'  parts  before ;  t'other 
belongs  down  to  Applegate's." 

"  Come,  let's  have  a  look  at  you,"  said  Lloyd,  put- 
ting back  the  whip ;  "  let  me  see  your  collar." 

Disregarding  the  man's  warning,  she  went  up  to 
the  stranger,  whistling  and  holding  out  her  hand, 
and  he  came  up  to  her — a  little  suspiciously  at  first, 
but  in  the  end  wagging  his  tail,  willing  to  be 
friendly.  Lloyd  parted  the  thick  fur  around  his 
neck  and  turned  the  plate  of  the  collar  to  the  light, 
7  97 


A  Man's  Woman 

On  the  plate  was  engraved :  "  Kamiska,  Arctic  S.  S. 
'  Freja.'     Return  to  Ward  Bennett." 

"  Anything  on  the  collar  ?  "  asked  the  man. 

Lloyd  settled  a  hairpin  in  a  coil  of  hair  at  the 
back  of  her  neck. 

"  Nothing — nothing  that  I  can  make  out." 

She  climbed  into  the  cart  again  and  dismissed 
the  farm-hand  with  a  quarter.  He  disappeared 
around  the  turn  of  the  road.  But  as  she  was  about 
to  drive  on,  Lloyd  heard  a  great  clattering  of  stones 
upon  the  hill  above  her,  a  crashing  in  the  bushes, 
and  a  shrill  whistle  thrice  repeated.  Kamiska 
started  up  at  once,  cocking  alternate  ears,  then 
turned  about  and  ran  up  the  hill  to  meet  Ward 
Bennett,  who  came  scrambling  down,  jumping  from 
one  granite  outcrop  to  another,  holding  on  the 
whiles  by  the  lower  branches  of  the  scrub  oak-trees. 

He  was  dressed  as  if  for  an  outing,  in  knicker- 
bockers and  huge,  hob-nailed  shoes.  He  wore  an 
old  shooting-coat  and  a  woollen  cap ;  a  little  leather 
sack  was  slung  from  his  shoulder,  and  in  his  hand 
he  carried  a  short-handled  geologist's  hammer. 

And  then,  after  so  long  a  time,  Lloyd  saw  his 
face  again — the  rugged,  unhandsome  face ;  the  mas- 
sive jaw,  huge  almost  to  deformity ;  the  great,  brutal, 
indomitable  lips;  the  square-cut  chin  with  its  for- 
ward, aggressive,  thrust;  the  narrow  forehead, 
seamed  and  contracted,  and  the  twinkling,  keen  eyes 
so  marred  by  the  cast,  so  heavily  shadowed  by  the 
shaggy  eyebrows.  When  he  spoke  the  voice  came 
heavy  and  vibrant  from  the  great  chest,  a  harsh, 
deep  bass,  a  voice  in  which  to  command  men,  not 
a  voice  in  which  to  talk  to  women. 
98 


A  Man's  Woman 

Lloyd,  long  schooled  to  self-repression  and  the 
control  of  her  emotions  when  such  repression  and 
control  were  necessary,  sat  absolutely  moveless  on 
her  high  seat,  her  hands  only  shutting  tighter  and 
tighter  upon  the  reins.  She  had  often  wondered 
how  she  would  feel,  what  was  to  be  her  dominant 
impulse,  at  such  moments  as  these,  and  now  she 
realised  that  it  was  not  so  much  joy,  not  so  much 
excitement,  as  a  resolute  determination  not  for  one 
instant  to  lose  her  poise. 

She  was  thinking  rapidly.  For  four  years  they 
had  not  met.  At  one  time  she  believed  him  to  be 
dead.  But  in  the  end  he  had  been  saved,  had  come 
back,  and,  ignoring  the  plaudits  of  an  entire  Chris- 
tendom, had  addressed  himself  straight  to  her.  For 
one  of  them,  at  least,  this  meeting  was  a  crisis. 
What  would  they  first  say  to  each  other?  how  be 
equal  to  the  situation  ?  how  rise  to  its  dramatic  pos- 
sibilities? But  the  moment  had  come  to  them  sud- 
denly, had  found  them  all  unprepared.  There  was 
no  time  to  think  of  adequate  words.  Afterward, 
when  she  reviewed  this  encounter,  she  told  herself 
that  they  both  had  failed,  and  that  if  the  meeting 
had  been  faithfully  reproduced  upon  the  stage  or  in 
the  pages  of  a  novel  it  would  have  seemed  tame  and 
commonplace.  These  two,  living  the  actual  scene, 
with  all  the  deep,  strong,  real  emotions  of  them  surg- 
ing to  the  surface,  the  vitality  of  them,  all  aroused 
and  vibrating,  suddenly  confronting  actuality  itself, 
were  not  even  natural ;  were  not  even  "  true  to  life." 
It  was  as  though  they  had  parted  but  a  fortnight  ago. 

Bennett  caught  his  cap  from  his  head  and  came 
toward  her,  exclaiming: 

99 


A  Man's  Woman 

"  Miss  Searight,  I  believe." 

And  she,  reaching  her  right  hand  over  the  left, 
that  still  held  the  reins,  leaned  from  her  high  seat, 
shaking  hands  with  him  and  replying : 

"  Well — Mr.  Bennett,  I'm  so  very  glad  to  see  you 
again.  Where  did  you  come  from  ?  " 

"  From  the  City — and  from  seventy-six  degrees 
north  latitude." 

"  I  congratulate  you.  We  had  almost  given  up 
hope  of  you." 

"  Thank  you,"  he  answered.  "  We  were  not  so 
roseate  with  hope  ourselves — all  the  time.  But  I 
have  not  felt  as  though  I  had  really  come  back  until 
this — well,  until  I  had  reached — the  road  between 
Bannister  and  Fourth  Lake,  for  instance,"  and  his 
face  relaxed  to  its  characteristic  grim  smile. 

"  You  reached  it  too  late,  then,"  she  responded. 
"  Your  dog  has  killed  our  Dan,  and,  what  is  much 
worse,  started  to  eat  him.  He's  a  perfect  savage." 

"  Kamiska?  Well,"  he  added,  reflectively,  "it's 
my  fault  for  setting  her  a  bad  example.  I  ate  her 
trace-mate,  and  was  rather  close  to  eating  Kamiska 
herself  at  one  time.  But  I  didn't  come  down  here 
to  talk  about  that." 

"  You  ar^  looking  rather  worn,  Mr.  Bennett." 

"  I  suppose.  The  doctor  sent  me  into  the  coun- 
try to  call  back  the  roses  to  my  pallid  cheek.  So  I 
came  down  here — to  geologise.  I  presume  that 
excuse  will  do  as  well  as  another."  Then  suddenly 
he  cried :  "  Hello,  steady  there ;  quick,  Miss  Sea- 
right  !  " 

It  all  came  so  abruptly  that  neither  of  them  could 
afterward  reconstruct  the  scene  with  any  degree  of 


A  Man's  Woman 

accuracy.  Probably  in  scrambling  down  the  steep 
slope  of  the  bank  Bennett  had  loosened  the  earth 
or  smaller  stones  that  hitherto  had  been  barely  suffi- 
cient support  to  the  mass  of  earth,  gravel,  rocks, 
and  bushes  that  all  at  once,  and  with  a  sharp,  crack- 
ling noise,  slid  downward  toward  the  road  from  the 
overhanging  bank.  The  slip  was  small,  hardly 
more  than  three  square  yards  of  earth  moving  from 
its  place,  but  it  came  with  a  smart,  quick  rush, 
throwing  up  a  cloud  of  dust  and  scattering  pebbles 
and  hard  clods  of  dirt  far  before  its  advance. 

As  Rox  leaped  Lloyd  threw  her  weight  too  sud- 
denly on  the  reins,  the  horse  arched  his  neck,  and 
the  overhead  check  snapped  like  a  harp-string. 
Again  he  reared  from  the  object  of  his  terror,  shak- 
ing his  head  from  side  to  side,  trying  to  get  a  pur- 
chase on  the  bit.  Then  his  lower  jaw  settled  against 
his  chest,  and  all  at  once  he  realised  that  no  pair  of 
human  hands  could  hold  him  now.  He  did  not 
rear  again ;  his  haunches  suddenly  lowered,  and 
with  the  hoofs  of  his  hind  feet  he  began  feeling  the 
ground  for  his  spring.  But  now  Bennett  was  at 
his  head,  gripping  at  the  bit,  striving  to  thrust  him 
back.  Lloyd,  half  risen  from  her  seat,  each  rein 
wrapped  twice  around  her  hands,  her  long,  strong 
arms  at  their  fullest  reach,  held  back  against  the 
horse  with  all  her  might,  her  body  swaying  and 
jerking  with  his  plunges.  But  the  overhead  check 
once  broken  Lloyd  might  as  well  have  pulled 
against  a  locomotive.  Bennett  was  a  powerful  man 
by  nature,  but  his  great  strength  had  been  not  a 
little  sapped  by  his  recent  experiences.  Between 
the  instant  his  hand  caught  at  the  bit  and  that 


A  Man's  Woman 

in  which  Rox  had  made  his  first  ineffectual  attempt 
to  spring  forward  he  recognised  the  inequality  of 
the  contest.  He  could  hold  Rox  back  for  a  second 
or  two,  perhaps  three,  then  the  horse  would  get 
away  from  him.  He  shot  a  glance  about  him.  Not 
twenty  yards  away  was  the  canal  and  the  perilously 
narrow  bridge — the  bridge  without  the  guard-rail. 

"  Quick,  Miss  Searight !  "  he  shouted.  "  Jump ! 
We  can't  hold  him.  Quick,  do  as  I  tell  you,  jump !  " 

But  even  as  he  spoke  Rox  dragged  him  from  his 
feet,  his  hoofs  trampling  the  hollow  road  till  it 
reverberated  like  the  roll  of  drums.  Bracing  him- 
self against  every  unevenness  of  the  ground,  his 
teeth  set,  his  face  scarlet,  the  veins  in  his  neck  swell- 
ing, suddenly  blue-black,  Bennett  wrenched  at  the 
bit  till  the  horse's  mouth  went  bloody.  But  all  to 
no  purpose;  faster  and  faster  Rox  was  escaping 
from  his  control. 

"  Jump,  I  tell  you !  "  he  shouted  again,  looking 
over  his  shoulder ;  "  another  second  and  he's  away." 

Lloyd  dropped  the  reins  and  turned  to  jump.  But 
the  lap-robe  had  slipped  down  to  the  bottom  of  the 
cart  when  she  had  risen,  and  was  in  a  tangle  about 
her  feet.  The  cart  was  rocking  like  a  ship  in  a 
storm.  Twice  she  tried  to  free  herself,  holding  to 
the  dashboard  with  one  hand.  Then  the  cart  sud- 
denly lurched  forward  and  she  fell  to  her  knees. 
Rox  was  off ;  it  was  all  over. 

Not  quite.  In  one  brief  second  of  time — a  hide- 
ous vision  come  and  gone  between  two  breaths — 
Lloyd  saw  the  fearful  thing  done  there  in  the  road, 
almost  within  reach  of  her  hand.  She  saw  the  man 
and  horse  at  grapples,  the  yellow  reach  of  road  that 


A  Man's  Woman 

lay  between  her  and  the  canal,  the  canal  itself,  and 
the  narrow  bridge.  Then  she  saw  the  short-handled 
geologist's  hammer  gripped  in  Bennett's  fist  heave 
high  in  the  air.  Down  it  came,  swift,  resistless,  ter- 
rible— one  blow.  The  cart  tipped  forward  as  Rox, 
his  knees  bowing  from  under  him,  slowly  collapsed. 
Then  he  rolled  upon  the  shaft  that  snapped  under 
him,  and  the  cart  vibrated  from  end  to  end  as  a  long, 
shuddering  tremble  ran  through  him  with  his  last 
deep  breath. 


When  Lloyd  at  length  managed  to  free  herself 
and  jump  to  the  ground  Bennett  came  quickly 
toward  her  and  drew  her  away  to  the  side  of  the 
road. 

"  Are  you  hurt  ?  "  he  demanded.  "  Tell  me,  are 
you  hurt  ?  " 

"  No,  no ;  not  in  the  least." 

"  Why  in  the  world  did  you  want  to  drive  such 
a  horse?  Don't  ever  take  such  chances  again.  I 
won't  have  it." 

For  a  few  moments  Lloyd  was  too  excited  to 
trust  herself  to  talk,  and  could  only  stand  helplessly 
to  one  side,  watching  Bennett  as  he  stripped  off  the 
harness  from  the  dead  horse,  stowed  it  away  under 
the  seat  of  the  cart,  and  rolled  the  cart  itself  to  the 
edge  of  the  road.  Then  at  length  she  said,  trying 
to  smile  and  to  steady  her  voice : 

"  It — it  seems  to  me,  Mr.  Bennett,  you  do  about 
— about  as  you  like  with  my  sta-bub-ble." 

"  Sit  down !  "  he  commanded,  "  you  are  trembling 
all  over.  Sit  down  on  that  rock  there." 

" and  with  me,"  she  added,  sinking  down 

upon  the  boulder  he  had  indicated  with  a  movement 
of  his  head,  his  hands  busy  with  the  harness. 

"  I'm  sorry  I  had  to  do  that,"  he  explained ;  "  but 
there  was  no  help  for  it — nothing  else  to  do.  He 
104 


A  Man's  Woman 

would  have  had  you  in  the  canal  in  another  second, 
if  he  did  not  kill  you  on  the  way  there." 

"  Poor  old  Rox,"  murmured  Lloyd ;  "  I  was  very 
fond  of  Rox." 

Bennett  put  himself  in  her  way  as  she  stepped 
forward.  He  had  the  lap-robe  over  his  arm  and 
the  whip  in  his  hand. 

"  No,  don't  look  at  him.  He's  not  a  pretty  sight 
Come,  shall  I  take  you  home  ?  Don't  worry  about 
the  cart ;  I  will  see  that  it  is  sent  back." 

"And  that  Rox  is  buried — somewhere?  I  don't 
want  him  left  out  there  for  the  crows."  In  spite  of 
Bennett's  injunction  she  looked  over 'her  shoulder 
for  a  moment  as  they  started  off  down  the  road.  "  I 
only  hope  you  were  sure  there  was  nothing  else  to 
do,  Mr.  Bennett,"  she  said. 

"  There  was  no  time  to  think,"  he  answered,  "  and 
I  wasn't  taking  any  chances." 

But  the  savagery  of  the  whole  affair  stuck  in 
Lloyd's  imagination.  There  was  a  primitiveness, 
a  certain  hideous  simplicity  in  the  way  Bennett  had 
met  the  situation  that  filled  her  with  wonder  and 
with  even  a  little  terror  and  mistrust  of  him.  The 
vast,  brutal  directness  of  the  deed  was  out  of  place 
and  incongruous  at  this  end-of-the-century  time. 
It  ignored  two  thousand  years  of  civilisation.  It 
was  a  harsh,  clanging,  brazen  note,  powerful,  un- 
complicated, which  came  jangling  in,  discordant 
and  inharmonious  with  the  tune  of  the  age.  It 
savoured  of  the  days  when  men  fouerht  the  brutes 
with  their  hands  or  with  their  clubs.  But  also  it  was 
an  indication  of  a  force  and  a  power  of  mind  that 
stopped  at  nothing  to  attain  its  ends,  that  chose  the 
105 


A  Man's  Woman 

shortest  cut,  the  most  direct  means,  disdainful  of 
hesitation,  holding  delicacy  and  finessing  in  meas- 
ureless contempt,  rushing  straight  to  its  object, 
driving  in,  breaking  down  resistance,  smashing 
through  obstacles  with  a  boundless,  crude,  blind 
Brobdignag  power,  to  oppose  which  was  to  be 
trampled  under  foot  upon  the  instant. 

It  was  long  before  their  talk  turned  from  the  inci- 
dent of  the  morning,  but  when  it  did  its  subject 
was  Richard  Ferriss.  Bennett  was  sounding  his 
praises  and  commending  upon  his  pluck  and  endur- 
ance during  the  retreat  from  the  ship,  when  Lloyd, 
after  hesitating  once  or  twice,  asked : 

"  How  is  Mr.  Ferriss  ?  In  your  note  you  said  he 
was  ill." 

"  So  he  is,"  he  told  her,  "  and  I  could  not  have 
left  him  if  I  was  not  sure  I  was  doing  him  harm  by 
staying.  But  the  doctor  is  to  wire  me  if  he  gets  any 
worse,  and  only  if  he  does.  I  am  to  believe  that 
no  news  is  good  news." 

But  this  meeting  with  Lloyd  and  the  intense  ex- 
citement of  those  few  moments  by  the  canal  had 
quite  driven  from  Bennett's  mind  the  fact  that  he 
had  not  forwarded  his  present  address  either  to 
Ferriss  or  to  his  doctor.  He  had  so  intended  that 
morning,  but  all  the  faculties  of  his  mind  were  sud- 
denly concentrated  upon  another  issue.  For  the 
moment  he  believed  that  he  had  actually  written  to 
Dr.  Pitts,  as  he  had  planned,  and  when  he  thought 
of  his  intended  message  at  all,  thought  of  it  as  an 
accomplished  fact.  The  matter  did  not  occur  to  him 
again. 

As  he  walked  by  Lloyd's  side,  listening  to  her  and 

106 


A  Man's  Woman 

talking  to  her,  snapping  the  whip  the  while,  or  flick- 
ing the  heads  from  the  mullein  stalks  by  the  roadside 
with  its  lash,  he  was  thinking  how  best  he  might  say 
to  her  what  he  had  come  from  the  City  to  say.  To 
lead  up  to  his  subject,  to  guide  the  conversation,  to 
prepare  the  right  psychological  moment  skilfully 
and  without  apparent  effort,  were  manoeuvres  in  the 
game  that  Bennett  ignored  and  despised.  He  knew 
only  that  he  loved  her,  that  she  was  there  at  his  side, 
that  the  object  of  all  his  desires  and  hopes  was 
within  his  reach.  Straight  as  a  homing  pigeon  he 
went  to  his  goal. 

"  Miss  Searight,"  he  began,  his  harsh,  bass  voice 
pitched  even  lower  than  usual,  "what  do  you 
think  I  am  down  here  for  ?  This  is  not  the  only  part 
of  the  world  where  I  could  recuperate,  I  suppose, 
and  as  for  spending  God's  day  in  chipping  at  stones, 
like  a  professor  of  a  young  ladies'  seminary  " — he 
hurled  the  hammer  from  him  into  the  bushes — "  that 
for  geology !  Now  we  can  talk.  You  know  very 
well  that  I  love  you,  and  I  believe  that  you  love  me. 
I  have  come  down  here  to  ask  you  to  marry  me." 

Lloyd  might  have  done  any  one  of  a  dozen  things 
— might  have  answered  in  any  one  of  a  dozen  ways. 
But  what  she  did  do,  what  she  did  say,  took  Bennett 
completely  by  surprise.  A  little  coldly  and  very 
calmly  she  answered : 

"  You  believe — you  say  you  believe  that  I " 

she  broke  off,  then  began  again :  "  It  is  not  right 
for  you  to  say  that  to  me.  I  have  never  led  you 
to  believe  that  I  cared  for  you.  Whatever  our 
relations  are  to  be,  let  us  have  that  understood  at 
once." 

107 


A  Man's  Woman 

Bennett  uttered  an  impatient  exclamation.  "  I 
am  not  good  at  fencing  and  quibbling,"  he  declared. 
"  I  tell  you  that  I  love  you  with  all  my  heart.  I  tell 
you  that  I  want  you  to  be  my  wife,  and  I  tell  you 
that  I  know  you  do  love  me.  You  are  not  like  other 
women ;  why  should  you  coquette  with  me  ?  Good 
God !  are  you  not  big  enough  to  be  above  such 
things  ?  I  know  you  are.  Of  all  the  people  in  the 
world  we  two  ought  to  be  above  pretence,  ought  to 
understand  each  other.  If  I  did  not  know  you 
cared  for  me  I  would  not  have  spoken." 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  she  answered.  "  I 
think  we  had  better  talk  of  other  things  this  morn- 
ing." 

"  I  came  down  here  to  talk  of  just  this  and  noth- 
ing else,"  he  declared. 

"  Very  well,  then,"  she  said,  squaring  her  shoul- 
ders with  a  quick,  brisk  movement,  "  we  will  talk  of 
it.  You  say  we  two  should  understand  each  other. 
Let  us  come  to  the  bottom  of  things  at  once.  I 
despise  quibbling  and  fencing  as  much,  perhaps,  as 
you.  Tell  me  how  have  I  ever  led  you  to  believe 
that  I  cared  for  you  ?  " 

"  At  a  time  when  our  last  hope  was  gone," 
answered  Bennett,  meeting  her  eyes,  "  when  I  was 
very  near  to  death  and  thought  that  I  should 
go  to  my  God  within  the  day,  I  was  made  happier 
than  I  think  I  ever  was  in  my  life  before  by  find- 
ing out  that  I  was  dear  to  you — that  you  loved 
me." 

Lloyd  searched  his  face  with  a  look  of  surprise 
and  bewilderment. 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  she  repeated. 


A  Man's  Woman 

"  Oh  1  "  exclaimed  Bennett  with  sudden  vehe- 
mence, "  you  could  say  it  to  Ferriss ;  why  can't  you 
say  it  to  me  ?  " 

"  To  Mr.  Ferriss  ?  " 

"  You  could  tell  him  that  you  cared." 

"  I— tell  Mr.  Ferriss— that  I  cared  for  you  ?  "  She 
began  to  smile.  "  You  are  a  little  absurd,  Mr. 
Bennett." 

"  And  I  cannot  see  why  you  should  deny  it  now. 
Or  if  anything  has  caused  you  to  change  your  mind 
— to  be  sorry  for  what  you  said,  why  should  I  not 
know  it?  Even  a  petty  thief  may  be  heard  in  his 
own  defence.  I  loved  you  because  I  believed  you 
to  be  a  woman,  a  great,  strong,  noble,  man's  woman, 
above  little  things,  above  the  little,  niggling,  con- 
temptible devices  of  the  drawing-room.  I  loved  you 
because  the  great  things  of  the  world  interested  you, 
because  you  had  no  place  in  your  life  for  petty 
graces,  petty  affectations,  petty  deceits  and  shams 
and  insincerities.  If  you  did  not  love  me,  why  did 
you  say  so?  If  you  do  love  me  now,  why  should 
you  not  admit  it  ?  Do  you  think  you  can  play  with 
me  ?  Do  you  think  you  can  coquette  with  me  ?  If 
you  were  small  enough  to  stoop  to  such  means,  do 
you  think  I  am  small  enough  to  submit  to  them  ?  I 
have  known  Ferriss  too  well.  I  know  him  to  be 
incapable  of  such  falsity  as  you  would  charge  him 
with:  To  have  told  such  a  lie,  such  an  uncalled-for, 
useless,  gratuitous  lie,  is  a  thing  he  could  not  have 
done.  You  must  have  told  him  that  you  cared. 
Why  aren't  you — you  of  all  women — brave  enough, 
strong  enough,  big  enough  to  stand  by  your 
words  ?  " 

109 


A  Man's  Woman 

"  Because  I  never  said  them.  What  do  you  think 
of  me  ?  Even  if  I  did  care,  do  you  suppose  I  would 
say  as  much — and  to  another  man  ?  Oh  1  "  she  ex- 
claimed with  sudden  indignation,  "  let's  talk  of 
something  else.  This  is  too — preposterous." 

"  You  never  told  Ferriss  that  you  cared  for  me  ?  " 

"  No." 

Bennett  took  off  his  cap.  "  Very  well,  then. 
That  is  enough.  Good-bye,  Miss  Searight." 

"  Do  you  believe  I  told  Mr.  Ferriss  I  loved  you  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  believe  that  the  man  who  has  been  more 
to  me  than  a  brother  is  a  liar  and  a  rascal." 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Bennett." 

They  had  come  rather  near  to  the  farmhouse  by 
this  time.  Without  another  word  Bennett  gave 
the  whip  and  the  lap-robe  into  her  hands,  and,  turn- 
ing upon  his  heel,  walked  away  down  the  road. 

Lloyd  told  Lewis  as  much  of  the  morning's  acci- 
dent by  the  canal  as  was  necessary,  and  gave  orders 
about  the  dog-cart  and  the  burying  of  Rox.  Then 
slowly,  her  eyes  fixed  and  wide,  she  went  up  to  her 
own  room  and,  without  removing  either  her  hat  or 
her  gloves,  sat  down  upon  the  edge  of  the  bed,  let- 
ting her  hands  fall  limply  into  her  lap,  gazing  ab- 
stractedly at  the  white  curtain  just  stirring  at  the 
open  window. 

She  could  not  say  which  hurt  her  most — that 
Ferriss  had  told  the  lie  or  that  Bennett  believed  it. 
But  why,  in  heaven's  name  why,  had  Ferriss  so 
spoken  to  Bennett;  what  object  had  he  in  view; 
what  had  he  to  gain  by  it?  Why  had  Ferriss,  the 
man  who  loved  her,  chosen  so  to  humiliate  her,  to 
put  her  in  a  position  so  galling  to  her  pride,  her 


A  Man's  Woman 

dignity?  Bennett,  too,  loved  her.  How  could  he 
believe  that  she  had  so  demeaned  herself  ? 

She  had  been  hurt  and  to  the  heart,  at  a  point 
where  she  believed  herself  most  unassailable,  and 
he  who  held  the  weapon  was  the  man  that  with 
all  the  heart  of  her  and  soul  of  her  she  loved. 

Much  of  the  situation  was  all  beyond  her.  Try 
as  she  would  she  could  not  understand.  One  thing, 
however,  she  saw  clearly,  unmistakably:  Bennett 
believed  that  she  loved  him,  believed  that  she  had 
told  as  much  to  Ferriss,  and  that  when  she  had 
denied  all  knowledge  of  Ferriss's  lie  she  was  only 
coquetting  with  him.  She  knew  Bennett  and  his 
character  well  enough  to  realise  that  an  idea  once 
rooted  in  his  mind  was  all  but  ineradicable.  Bennett 
was  not  a  man  of  easy  changes;  nothing  mobile 
about  him. 

The  thought  of  this  belief  of  Bennett's  was  intol- 
erable. As  she  sat  there  alone  in  her  white  room  the 
dull  crimson  of  her  cheeks  flamed  suddenly  scarlet, 
and  with  a  quick,  involuntary  gesture  she  threw 
her  hand,  palm  outward,  across  her  face  to  hide  it 
from  the  sunlight.  She  went  quickly  from  one 
mood  to  another.  Now  her  anger  grew  suddenly 
hot  against  Ferriss.  How  had  he  dared?  How 
had  he  dared  to  put  this  indignity,  this  outrageous 
insult,  upon  her?  Now  her  wrath  turned  upon  Ben- 
nett. What  audacity  had  been  his  to  believe  that 
she  would  so  forget  herself?  She  set  her  teeth  in 
her  impotent  anger,  rising  to  her  feet,  her  hands 
clenching,  tears  of  sheer  passion  starting  to  her 
eyes. 

For  the  greater  part  of  the  afternoon  she  kept  to 


A  Man's  Woman 

her  room,  pacing  the  floor  from  wall  to  wall,  trying 
to  think  clearly,  to  resolve  upon  something  that 
would  readjust  the  situation,  that  would  give  her 
back  her  peace  of  mind,  her  dignity,  and  her  happi- 
ness of  the  early  morning.  For  now  the  great  joy 
that  had  come  to  her  in  his  safe  return  was  all  but 
gone.  For  one  moment  she  even  told  herself  she 
could  not  love  him,  but  the  next  was  willing  to 
admit  that  it  was  only  because  of  her  love  of  him, 
as  strong  and  deep  as  ever,  that  the  humiliation  cut 
so  deeply  and  cruelly  now.  Ferriss  had  lied  about 
her,  and  Bennett  had  believed  the  lie.  To  meet 
Bennett  again  under  such  circumstances  was  not  to 
be  thought  of  for  one  moment.  Her  vacation  was 
spoiled ;  the  charm  of  the  country  had  vanished. 
Lloyd  returned  to  the  City  the  next  day. 

She  found  that  she  was  glad  to  get  back  to  her 
work.  The  subdued  murmur  of  the  City  that  hourly 
assaulted  her  windows  was  a  relief  to  her  ears  after 
the  profound  and  numbing  silence  of  the  country. 
The  square  was  never  so  beautiful  as  at  this  time  of 
summer,  and  even  the  restless  shadow  pictures,  that 
after  dark  were  thrown  upon  the  ceiling  of  her  room 
by  the  electrics  shining  through  the  great  elms  in 
the  square  below,  were  a  pleasure. 

On  the  morning  after  her  arrival  and  as  she  was 
unpacking  her  trunk  Miss  Douglass  came  into  her 
room  and  seated  herself,  according  to  her  custom, 
on  the  couch.  After  some  half-hour's  give-and- 
take  talk,  the  fever  nurse  said : 

"  Do  you  remember,  Lloyd,  what  I  told  you  about 
typhoid  in  the  spring — that  it  was  almost  epi- 
demic?" 


A  Man's  Woman 

Lloyd  nodded,  turning  about  from  her  trunk,  her 
arms  full  of  dresses. 

"  It's  worse  than  ever  now,"  continued  Miss 
Douglass ;  "  three  of  our  people  have  been  on  cases 
only  in  the  short  time  you  have  been  away.  And 
there's  a  case  out  in  Medford  that  has  killed  one 
nurse." 

"  Well !  "  exclaimed  Lloyd  in  some  astonishment, 
"  it  seems  to  me  that  one  should  confine  typhoid 
easily  enough." 

"  Not  always,  not  always,"  answered  the  other ; 
"  a  virulent  case  would  be  quite  as  bad  as  yellow 
fever  or  smallpox.  You  remember  when  we  were 
at  the  hospital  Miss  Helmuth,  that  little  Polish 
nurse,  contracted  it  from  her  case  and  died  even 
before  her  patient  did.  Then  there  was  Eva  Blayne. 
She  very  nearly  died.  I  did  like  the  way  Miss 
Wakeley  took  this  case  out  at  Medford  even  when 
the  other  nurse  had  died.  She  never  hesitated 
for " 

"  Has  one  of  our  people  got  this  case  ?  "  inquired 
Lloyd. 

"  Of  course.     Didn't  I  tell  you  ?  " 

"  I  hope  we  cure  it,"  said  Lloyd,  her  trunk-tray  in 
her  hands.  "  I  don't  think  we  have  ever  lost  a  case 
yet  when  good  nursing  could  pull  it  through,  and  in 
typhoid  the  whole  treatment  really  is  the  nursing." 

"  Lloyd,"  said  Miss  Douglass  decisively,  "  I 
would  give  anything  I  can  think  of  now  to  have 
been  on  that  hip  disease  case  of  yours  and  have 
brought  my  patient  through  as  you  did.  You 
should  hear  what  Dr.  Street  says  of  you — and  the 
little  girl's  father.  By  the  way,  I  had  nearly  for- 
8  113 


A  Man's  Woman 

gotten.  Hattie  Campbell — that's  her  name,  isn't 
it  ? — telephoned  to  know  if  you  had  come  back  from 
the  country  yet  That  was  yesterday.  I  said  we 
expected  you  to-day,  and  she  told  me  to  say  she 
was  coming  to  see  you." 

The  next  afternoon  toward  three  o'clock  Hattie 
and  her  father  drove  to  the  square  in  an  open  car- 
riage, Hattie  carrying  a  great  bunch  of  violets  for 
Lloyd.  The  little  invalid  was  well  on  the  way  to 
complete  recovery  by  now.  Sometimes  she  was  al- 
lowed to  walk  a  little,  but  as  often  as  not  her  maid 
wheeled  her  about  in  an  invalid's  chair.  She  drove 
out  in  the  carriage  frequently  by  way  of  exercise. 
She  would,  no  doubt,  always  limp  a  little,  but  in  the 
end  it  was  certain  she  would  be  sound  and  strong. 
For  Hattie  and  her  father  Lloyd  had  become  a  sort 
of  tutelary  semi-deity.  In  what  was  left  of  the  fam- 
ily she  had  her  place,  hardly  less  revered  than  even 
the  dead  wife.  Campbell  himself,  who  had  made  a 
fortune  in  Bessemer  steel,  a  well-looking,  well- 
groomed  gentleman,  smooth-shaven  and  with  hair 
that  was  none  too  gray,  more  than  once  caught  him- 
self standing  before  Lloyd's  picture  that  stood  on 
the  mantelpiece  in  Hattie's  room,  looking  at  it 
vaguely  as  he  clipped  the  nib  from  his  cigar. 

But  on  this  occasion  as  the  carriage  stopped  in 
front  of  the  ample  pile  of  the  house  Hattie  called 
out,  "  Oh,  there  she  is  now,"  and  Lloyd  came  down 
the  steps,  carrying  her  nurse's  bag  in  her  hand. 

"  Are  we  too  late  ?  "  began  Hattie ;  "  are  you  go- 
ing out ;  are  you  on  a  case  ?  Is  that  why  you've  got 
your  bag?  We  thought  you  were  on  a  vacation." 

Campbell,  yielding  to  a  certain  feeling  of  uneasi- 
1X4 


A  Man's  Woman 

ness  that  Lloyd  should  stand  on  the  curb  while  he 
remained  seated,  got  out  of  the  carriage  and  stood 
at  her  side,  gravely  listening  to  the  talk  between  the 
nurse  and  her  one-time  patient.  Lloyd  was  obliged 
to  explain,  turning  now  to  Hattie,  now  to  her  father. 
She  told  them  that  she  was  in  something  of  a  hurry. 
She  had  just  been  specially  called  to  take  a  very  bad 
case  of  typhoid  fever  in  a  little  suburb  of  the  City, 
called  Medford.  It  was  not  her  turn  to  go,  but  the 
physicians  in  charge  of  the  case,  as  sometimes  hap- 
pened, had  asked  especially  for  her. 

"  One  of  our  people,  a  young  woman  named  Miss 
Wakeley,  has  been  on  this  case,"  she  continued, 
"  but  it  seems  she  has  allowed  herself  to  contract 
the  disease  herself.  She  went  to  the  hospital  this 
noon." 

Campbell,  his  gravity  suddenly  broken  up,  ex- 
claimed : 

"  Surely,  Miss  Searight,  this  is  not  the  same  case 
I  read  of  in  yesterday's  paper — it  must  be,  too — 
Medford  was  the  name  of  the  place.  That  case  has 
killed  one  nurse  already,  and  now  the  second  one 
is  down.  Don't  tell  me  you  are  going  to  take  the 
same  case." 

"  It  is  the  same  case,"  answered  Lloyd,  "  and,  of 
course,  I  am  going  to  take  it.  Did  you  ever  hear  of 
a  nurse  doing  otherwise?  Why,  it  would  seem — 
seem  so — funny " 

There  was  no  dissuading  her,  and  Campbell  and 
Hattie  soon  ceased  even  to  try.  She  was  impatient 
to  be  gone.  The  station  was  close  at  hand,  and  she 
would  not  hear  of  taking  the  carriage  thither. 
However,  before  she  left  them  she  recurred  again 


A  Man's  Woman 

to  the  subject  of  her  letter  to  Mr.  Campbell,  and 
then  and  there  it  was  decided  that  Hattie  and  her 
maid  should  spend  the  following  ten  days  at  Lloyd's 
place  in  Bannister.  The  still  country  air,  now  that 
Hattie  was  able  to  take  the  short  journey,  would 
be  more  to  her  than  many  medicines,  and  the  ponies 
and  Lloyd's  phaeton  would  be  left  there  with  Lewis 
for  her  use. 

"  And  write  often,  won't  you,  Miss  Searight  ?  " 
exclaimed  Hattie  as  Lloyd  was  saying  good-bye. 
Lloyd  shook  her  head. 

"  Not  that  of  all  things,"  she  answered.  "  If  I 
did  that  we  might  have  you,  too,  down  with  typhoid. 
But  you  may  write  to  me,  and  I  hope  you  will,"  and 
she  gave  Hattie  her  new  address. 

"  Harriet,"  said  Campbell  as  the  carriage  drove 
back  across  the  square,  the  father  and  daughter 
waving  their  hands  to  Lloyd,  briskly  on  her  way  to 
the  railroad  station,  "  Harriet." 

"  Yes,  papa." 

"  There  goes  a  noble  woman.  Pluck,  intelli- 
gence, strong  will — she  has  them  all — and  a  great 

big  heart  that — heart  that "  He  clipped  the  end 

of  a  cigar  thoughtfully  and  fell  silent. 

A  day  or  two  later,  as  Hattie  was  sitting  in  her 
little  wheel-chair  on  the  veranda  of  Mrs.  Applegate's 
house  watching  Charley- Joe  hunting  grasshoppers 
underneath  the  currant  bushes,  she  was  surprised  by 
-the  sharp  closing  of  the  front  gate.  A  huge  man 
with  one  squint  eye  and  a  heavy,  square-cut  jaw  was 
coming  up  the  walk,  followed  by  a  strange-looking 
dog.  Charley- Joe  withdrew  swiftly  to  his  particular 
hole  under  the  veranda,  moving  rapidly,  his  body 
116 


A  Man's  Woman 

low  to  the  ground,  and  taking  an  unnecessary  num- 
ber of  very  short  steps. 

The  little  city-bred  girl  distinguished  the  visitor 
from  a  country  man  at  once.  Hattie  had  ideas  of 
her  own  as  to  propriety,  and  so  rose  to  her  feet  as 
Bennett  came  up,  and  after  a  moment's  hesitation 
made  him  a  little  bow.  Bennett  at  once  gravely 
took  off  his  cap. 

"  Excuse  me,"  he  said  as  though  Hattie  were 
twenty-five  instead  of  twelve.  "  Is  Miss  Searight 
at  home  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  exclaimed  Hattie,  delighted,  "  do  you 
know  Miss  Searight?  She  was  my  nurse  when  I 
was  so  sick — because  you  know  I  had  hip  disease 
and  there  was  an  operation.  No,  she's  not  here 
any  more.  She's  gone  away,  gone  back  to  the 
City." 

"  Gone  back  to  the  City?  " 

"  Yes,  three  or  four  days  ago.  But  I'm  going  to 
write  to  her  this  afternoon.  Shall  I  say  who 
called  ?  "  Then,  without  waiting  for  a  reply,  she 
added,  "  I  guess  I  had  better  introduce  myself.  My 
name  is  Harriet  Campbell,  and  my  papa  is  Craig  V. 
Campbell,  of  the  Hercules  Wrought  Steel  Company 
in  the  City.  Won't  you  have  a  chair  ?  " 

The  little  convalescent  and  the  arctic  explorer 
shook  hands  with  great  solemnity. 

"  I'm  so  pleased  to  meet  you,"  said  Bennett.  "  I 
haven't  a  card,  but  my  name  is  Ward  Bennett — of 
the  Freja  expedition,"  he  added.  But,  to  his  relief, 
the  little  girl  had  not  heard  of  him. 

"  Very  well,"  she  said,  "  I'll  tell  Miss  Searight 
Mr.  Bennett  called." 

117 


A  Man's  Woman 

"  No,"  he  replied,  hesitatingly,  "  no,  you  needn't 
do  that." 

"  Why,  she  won't  answer  my  letter,  you  know," 
explained  Hattie,  "  because  she  is  afraid  her  letters 
would  give  me  typhoid  fever,  that  they  might  " — she 
continued  carefully,  hazarding  a  remembered  phrase 
— "  carry  the  con-ta-gion.  You  see  she  has  gone 
to  nurse  a  dreadful  case  of  typhoid  fever  out  at  Med- 
ford,  near  the  City,  and  we're  so  worried  and  anx- 
ious about  her — papa  and  I.  One  nurse  that  had 
this  case  has  died  already  and  another  one  has 
caught  the  disease  and  is  very  sick,  and  Miss  Sea- 
right,  though  she  knew  just  how  dangerous  it  was, 

would  go,  just  like — like "  Hattie  hesitated,  then 

confused  memories  of  her  school  reader  coming  to 
her,  finished  with  "  like  Casabianca." 

"  Oh,"  said  Bennett,  turning  his  head  so  as  to  fix 
her  with  his  own  good  eye.  "  She  has  gone  to 
nurse  a  typhoid  fever  patient,  has  she  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  papa  told  me — "  and  Hattie  became 
suddenly  very  grave,  "  that  we  might — might — oh, 
dear — never  see  her  again." 

"  Hum !  Whereabouts  is  this  place  in  Med- 
ford  ?  She  gave  you  her  address ;  what  is  it  ?  " 
Hattie  told  him,  and  he  took  himself  abruptly 
away. 

Bennett  had  gone  some  little  distance  down  the 
road  before  the  real  shock  came  upon  him.  Lloyd 
was  in  a  position  of  imminent  peril ;  her  life  was  in 
the  issue.  With  .blind,  unreasoned  directness  he 
leaped  at  once  to  this  conclusion,  and  as  he  strode 
along  with  teeth  and  fists  tight  shut  he  kept  mutter- 
ing to  himself :  "  She  may  die,  she  may  die — we 
118 


A  Man's  Woman 

— we  may  never  see  her  again."  Then  suddenly 
came  the  fear,  the  sickening  sink  of  heart,  the  choke 
at  the  throat,  first  the  tightening  and  then  the  sud- 
den relaxing  of  all  the  nerves.  Lashed  and  harried 
by  the  sense  of  a  fearful  calamity,  an  unspeakable 
grief  that  was  pursuing  after  him,  Bennett  did  not 
stop  to  think,  to  reflect.  He  chose  instantly  to  be- 
lieve that  Lloyd  was  near  her  death,  and  once  the 
idea  was  fixed  in  his  brain  it  was  not  thereafter  to  be 
reasoned  away.  Suddenly,  at  a  turn  in  the  road, 
he  stopped,  his  hands  deep  in  his  pockets,  his  boot- 
heel  digging  into  the  ground.  "  Now,  then,"  he  ex- 
claimed, "  what's  to  be  done  ?  " 

Just  one  thing:  Lloyd  must  leave  the  case  at 
once,  that  very  day  if  it  were  possible.  He  must 
save  her ;  must  turn  her  back  from  this  destruction 
toward  which  she  was  rushing,  impelled  by  such  a 
foolish,  mistaken  notion  of  duty. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  there's  just  that  to  be  done,  and, 
by  God !  it  shall  be  done." 

But  would  Lloyd  be  turned  back  from  a  course 
she  had  chosen  for  herself?  Could  he  persuade 
her?  Then  with  this  thought  of  possible  opposi- 
tion Bennett's  resolve  all  at  once  tightened  to  the 
sticking  point.  Never  in  the  darkest  hours  of  his 
struggle  with  the  arctic  ice  had  his  determination 
grown  so  fierce ;  never  had  his  resolution  so  girded 
itself,  so  nerved  itself  to  crush  down  resistance. 
The  force  of  his  will  seemed  brusquely  to  be  quad- 
rupled and  decupled.  He  would  do  as  he  desired ; 
come  what  might  he  would  gain  his  end.  He  would 
stop  at  nothing,  hesitate  at  nothing.  It  would  prob- 
ably be  difficult  to  get  her  from  her  post,  but  with  all 
119 


A  Man's  Woman 

his  giant's  strength  Rennett  set  himself  to  gain  her 
safety. 

A  great  point  that  he  believed  was  in  his  favour, 
a  consideration  that  influenced  him  to  adopt  so  ir- 
revocable a  resolution,  was  his  belief  that  Lloyd 
loved  him.  Bennett  was  not  a  woman's  man.  Men 
he  could  understand  and  handle  like  so  many  mani- 
kins, but  the  nature  of  his  life  and  work  did  not  con- 
duce to  a  knowledge  of  women.  Bennett  did  not 
understand  them.  In  his  interview  with  Lloyd 
when  she  had  so  strenuously  denied  Ferriss's  story 
Bennett  could  not  catch  the  ring  of  truth.  It  had 
gotten  into  his  mind  that  Lloyd  loved  him.  He 
believed  easily  what  he  wanted  to  believe,  and  his 
faith  in  Lloyd's  love  for  him  had  become  a  part  and 
parcel  of  his  fundamental  idea  of  things,  not  readily 
to  be  driven  out  even  by  Lloyd  herself. 

Bennett's  resolution  was  taken.  Never  had  he 
failed  in  accomplishing  that  upon  which  he  set  his 
mind.  He  would  not  fail  now.  Beyond  a  certain 
limit — a  limit  which  now  he  swiftly  reached  and 
passed — Bennett's  determination  to  carry  his  point 
became,  as  it  were,  a  sort  of  obsession ;  the  sweep  of 
the  tremendous  power  he  unchained  carried  his  own 
self  along  with  it  in  its  resistless  onrush.  At  such 
times  there  was  no  light  of  reason  in  his  actions. 
He  saw  only  his  point,  beheld  only  his  goal ;  deaf  to 
all  voices  that  would  call  him  back,  blind  to  all  con- 
sideration that  would  lead  him  to  swerve,  reckless 
of  everything  that  he  trampled  under  foot,  he  stuck 
to  his  aim  until  that  aim  was  an  accomplished  fact. 
When  the  grip  of  the  Ice  had  threatened  to  close 
upon  him  and  crush  him,  he  had  hurled  himself 


A  Man's  Woman 

against  its  barriers  with  an  energy  and  resolve  to 
conquer  that  was  little  short  of  directed  frenzy.  So 
it  was  with  him  now. 

When  Lloyd  had  parted  from  the  Campbells  in 
the  square  before  the  house,  she  had  gone  directly 
to  the  railway  station  of  a  suburban  line,  and,  within 
the  hour,  was  on  her  way  to  Medford.  As  always 
happened  when  an  interesting  case  was  to  be 
treated,  her  mind  became  gradually  filled  with  it  to 
the  exclusion  of  everything  else.  The  Campbells, 
and  Bennett's  ready  acceptance  of  a  story  that  put 
her  in  so  humiliating  a  light,  were  forgotten  as  the 
train  swept  her  from  the  heat  and  dust  of  the  City 
out  into  the  green  reaches  of  country  to  the  south- 
ward. What  had  been  done  upon  the  case  she  had 
no  means  of  telling.  She  only  knew  that  the  case 
was  of  unusual  virulence  and  well  advanced.  It  had 
killed  one  nurse  already  and  seriously  endangered 
the  life  of  another,  but  so  far  from  reflecting  on  the 
danger  to  herself,  Lloyd  felt  a  certain  exhilaration  in 
the  thought  that  she  was  expected  to  succeed  where 
others  had  succumbed.  Another  battle  with  the 
Enemy  was  at  hand,  the  Enemy  who,  though  con- 
quered on  a  hundred  fields,  must  inevitably  triumph 
in  the  end.  Once  again  this  Enemy  had  stooped 
and  caught  a  human  being  in  his  cold  grip.  Once 
again  Life  and  Death  were  at  grapples,  and  Death 
was  strong,  and  from  out  the  struggle  a  cry  -had 
come — had  come  to  her — a  cry  for  help. 

All  the  exuberance  of  battle  grew  big  within  her 
breast.  She  was  impatient  to  be  there — there  at 
hand — to  face  the  Enemy  again  across  the  sick-bed, 


A  Man's  Woman 

where  she  had  so  often  faced  and  outfought  him  be- 
fore ;  and,  matching  her  force  against  his  force,  her 
obstinacy  against  his  strength — the  strength  that 
would  pull  the  life  from  her  grasp — her  sleepless 
vigilance  against  his  stealth,  her  intelligence  against 
his  cunning,  her  courage  against  his  terrors,  her 
resistance  against  his  attack,  her  skill  against  his 
strategy,  her  science  against  his  world-old,  world- 
wide experience,  win  the  fight,  save  the  life,  hold 
firm  against  his  slow,  resistless  pull  and  triumph 
again,  if  it  was  only  for  the  day. 

Succeed  she  would  and  must.  Her  inborn  ob- 
stinacy, her  sturdy  refusal  to  yield  her  ground,  what- 
ever it  should  be,  her  stubborn  power  of  resistance, 
her  tenacity  of  her  chosen  course,  came  to  her  aid 
as  she  drew  swiftly  near  to  the  spot  whereon  the 
battle  would  be  fought.  Mentally  she  braced  her- 
self, holding  back  with  all  her  fine,  hard-tempered, 
native  strength.  No,  she  would  not  yield  the  life 
to  the  Enemy ;  no,  she  would  not  give  up ;  no,  she 
would  not  recede.  Let  the  Enemy  do  his  worst — 
she  was  strong  against  his  efforts. 

At  Medford,  which  she  reached  toward  four  in  the 
afternoon,  after  an  hour's  ride  from  the  City,  she 
found  a  conveyance  waiting  for  her,  and  was  driven 
rapidly  through  streets  bordered  with  villas  and 
closely  shaven  lawns  to  a  fair-sized  country  seat  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  town.  The  housekeeper  met 
her  at  the  door  with  the  information  that  the  doctor 
was,  at  the  moment,  in  the  sick-room,  and  had  left 
orders  that  the  nurse  should  be  brought  to  him  the 
moment  she  arrived.  The  housekeeper  showed 
Lloyd  the  way  to  the  second  landing,  knocking 


A  Man's  Woman 

upon  the  half-open  door  at  the  end  of  the  hall,  and 
ushering  her  in  without  waiting  for  an  answer. 

Lloyd  took  in  the  room  at  a  glance — the  closely 
drawn  curtains,  the  screen  between  the  bed  and  the 
windows,  the  doctor  standing  on  the  hearth-rug, 
and  the  fever-inflamed  face  of  the  patient  on  the 
pillow.  Then  all  her  power  of  self-repression  could 
not  keep  her  from  uttering  a  smothered  exclama- 
tion. 

For  she,  the  woman  who,  with  all  the  savage 
energy  of  him,  Bennett  loved,  had,  at  peril  of  her 
life,  come  to  nurse  Bennett's  nearest  friend,  the  man 
of  all  others  dear  to  him — Richard  Ferriss. 


123 


VI. 


Two  days  after  Dr.  Pitts  had  brought  Ferriss  to 
his  country  house  in  the  outskirts  of  Medford  he 
had  been  able  to  diagnose  his  sickness  as  typhoid 
fever,  and  at  once  had  set  about  telegraphing  the 
fact  to  Bennett.  Then  it  had  occurred  to  him  that 
he  did  not  know  where  Bennett  had  gone.  Bennett 
had  omitted  notifying  him  of  his  present  where- 
abouts, and,  acting  upon  Dr.  Pitts's  advice,  had 
hidden  himself  away  from  everybody.  Neither  at 
his  club  nor  at  his  hotel,  where  his  mail  accumulated 
in  extraordinary  quantities,  had  any  forwarding 
address  been  left.  Bennett  would  not  even  know 
that  Ferriss  had  been  moved  to  Medford.  So  much 
the  worse..  It  could  not  be  helped.  There  was 
nothing  for  the  doctor  to  do  but  to  leave  Bennett 
in  ignorance  and  go  ahead  and  fight  for  the  life  of 
Ferriss  as  best  he  could.  Pitts  arranged  for  a 
brother  physician  to  take  over  his  practice,  and 
devoted  himself  entirely  to  Ferriss.  And  Ferriss 
sickened  and  sickened,  and  went  steadily  from  bad 
to  worse.  The  fever  advanced  regularly  to  a  cer- 
tain stage,  a  stage  of  imminent  danger,  and  there 
"paused.  Rarely  had  Pitts  been  called  upon  to  fight 
a  more  virulent  form  of  the  disease. 

What  made  matters  worse  was  that  Ferriss  hung 
on  for  so  long  a  time  without  change  one  wav  or 
another.  Pitts  had  long  since  been  convinced  of 
124 


A  Man's  Woman 

ulceration  in  the  membrane  of  the  intestines,  but 
it  astonished  him  that  this  symptom  persisted  so 
long  without  signs  either  of  progressing  or  dimin- 
ishing. The  course  of  the  disease  was  unusually 
slow.  The  first  nurse  had  already  had  time  to 
sicken  and  die ;  a  second  had  been  infected,  and  yet 
Ferriss  "  hung  on,"  neither  sinking  nor  improving, 
yet  at  every  hour  lying  perilously  near  death.  It 
was  not  often  that  death  and  life  locked  horns  for 
so  long,  not  often  that  the  chance  was  so  even. 
Many  was  the  hour,  many  was  the  moment,  when  a 
hair  would  have  turned  the  balance,  and  yet  the 
balance  was  preserved. 

At  her  abrupt  recognition  of  Ferriss,  in  this  pa- 
tient whom  she  had  been  summoned  to  nurse,  and 
whose  hold  upon  life  was  so  pitifully  weak,  Lloyd's 
heart  gave  a  great  leap  and  then  sank  ominously  in 
her  breast.  Her  first  emotion  was  one  of  boundless 
self-reproach.  Why  had  she  not  known  of  this? 
Why  had  she  not  questioned  Bennett  more  closely 
as  to  his  friend's  sickness  ?  Might  she  not  have  ex- 
pected something  like  this?  Was  not  typhoid  the 
one  evil  to  be  feared  and  foreseen  after  experiences 
such  as  Ferriss  had  undergone — the  fatigue  and 
privations  of  the  march  over  the  ice,  and  the  subse- 
quent months  aboard  the  steam  whaler,  with  its 
bad  food,  its  dirt,  and  its  inevitable  overcrowding? 

And  while  she  had  been  idling  in  the  country, 
this  man,  whom  she  had  known  since  her  girlhood 
better  and  longer  than  any  of  her  few  acquaintances, 
had  been  struck  down,  and  day  by  day  had  weakened 
and  sickened  and  wasted,  until  now,  at  any  hour, 
at  any  moment,  the  life  might  be  snuffed  out  like  the 
125 


A  Man's  Woman 

light  of  a  spent  candle.  What  a  miserable  incom- 
petent had  she  been!  That  day  in  the  park  when 
she  had  come  upon  him,  so  weak  and  broken  and 
far  spent,  why  had  she  not,  with  all  her  training 
and  experience,  known  that  even  then  the  flame  was 
flickering  down  to  the  socket,  that  a  link  in  the  silver 
chain  was  weakening?  Now,  perhaps,  it  was  too 
late.  But  quick  her  original  obstinacy  rose  up  in 
protest.  No!  she  would  not  yield  the  life.  No, 
no,  no;  again  and  a  thousand  times  no!  He  be- 
longed to  her.  Others  she  had  saved,  others  far  less 
dear  to  her  than  Ferriss.  Her  last  patient — the  lit- 
tle girl — she  had  caught  back  from  death  at  the 
eleventh  hour,  and  of  all  men  would  she  not  save 
Ferriss?  In  such  sickness  as  this  it  was  the  nurse 
and  not  the  doctor  who  must  be  depended  upon. 
And,  once  again,  never  so  strong,  never  so  fine, 
never  so  glorious,  her  splendid  independence,  her 
pride  in  her  own  strength,  her  indomitable  self- 
reliance  leaped  in  her  breast,  leaped  and  stood  firm, 
hard  as  tempered  steel,  head  to  the  Enemy,  daring 
the  assault,  defiant,  immovable,  unshaken  in  its 
resolve,  unconquerable  in  the  steadfast  tenacity  of 
it*  purpose. 

The  story  that  Ferriss  had  told  to  Bennett,  that 
uncalled-for  and  inexplicable  falsehood,  was  a  thing 
forgotten.  Death  stood  at  the  bedhead,  and  in  that 
room  the  little  things  of  life  had  no  place.  The 
king  was  holding  court,  and  the  swarm  of  small, 
every-day  issues,  like  a  crowd  of  petty  courtiers, 
were  not  admitted  to  his  presence.  Ferriss's  life 
was  in  danger.  Lloyd  saw  no  more  than  that.  At 
•nee  she  set  about  the  work. 
126 


A  Man's  Woman 

In  a  few  rapid  sentences  exchanged  in  low  voices 
between  her  and  the  doctor  Lloyd  made  herself 
acquainted  with  the  case. 

"  We've  been  using  the  ice-pack  and  wet-pack  to 
bring  down  the  temperature  in  place  of  the  cold 
bath,"  the  doctor  explained.  "  I'm  afraid  of  peri- 
carditis." 

"  Quinine  ?  "  inquired  Lloyd. 

"  From  twenty  to  forty  grains  in  the  morning 
and  evening.  Here's  the  temperature  chart  for  the 
last  week.  If  we  reach  this  point  in  axilla  again — " 
he  indicated  one  hundred  and  two  degrees  with  a 
thumb-nail — "  we'll  have  to  risk  the  cold  bath,  but 
only  in  that  case." 

"  And  the  tympanites  ?  " 

Dr.  Pitts  put  his  chin  in  the  air. 

"  Grave — there's  an  intestinal  ulcer,  no  doubt  of 
it,  and  if  it  perforates — well,  we  can  send  for  the 
undertaker  then." 

"  Has  he  had  haemorrhages  ?  " 

"  Two  in  the  first  week,  but  not  profuse — he 
seemed  to  rally  fairly  well  afterward.  We  have 
been  injecting  ether  in  case  of  anaemia.  Really, 
Miss  Searight,  the  case  is  interesting,  but  wicked, 
wicked  as  original  sin.  Killed  off  my  first  nurse 
out  of  hand — good  little  boy,  conscientious  enough ; 
took  no  care  of  himself;  ate  his  meals  in  the  sick- 
room against  my  wishes  ;off  he  went — dicrotic  pulse, 
diarrhoea,  vomiting,  hospital,  thrombosis  of  pul- 
monary artery,  pouf,  reqttiescat." 

"And  Miss  Wakeley?" 

"  Knocked  under  yesterday,  and  she  was  fairry 
saturated  with  creolin  night  and  morning.  I  don't 
127 


A  Man's  Woman 

know  how  it  happened.  .  .  .  Well,  God  for  us 
all.  Here  he  is — that's  the  point  for  us."  He 
glanced  toward  the  bed,  and  for  the  third  time 
Lloyd  looked  at  the  patient. 

Ferriss  was  in  a  quiet  delirium,  and,  at  intervals, 
from  behind  his  lips,  dry  and  brown  and  fissured, 
there  came  the  sounds  of  low  and  indistinct  mutter- 
ing. Barring  a  certain  prominence  of  the  cheek- 
bones, his  face  was  not  very  wasted,  but  its  skin  was 
a  strange,  dusky  pallor.  The  cold  pack  was  about 
his  head  like  a  sort  of  caricatured  crown. 

"  Well,"  repeated  Pitts  in  a  moment,  "  I've  been 
waiting  for  you  to  come  to  get  a  little  rest.  Was  up 
all  last  night.  Suppose  you  take  over  charge." 

Lloyd  nodded  her  head,  removing  her  hat  and 
gloves,  making  herself  ready.  Pitts  gave  her  some 
final  directions,  and  left  her  alone  in  the  sick-room. 
For  the  moment  there  was  nothing  to  do  for  the 
patient.  Lloyd  put  on  her  hospital  slippers  and 
moved  silently  about  the  room,  preparing  for  the 
night,  and  making  some  few  changes  in  the  matter 
of  light  and  ventilation.  Then  for  a  while  the  medi- 
cine occupied  her  attention,  and  she  was  at  some 
pains  to  carefully  sort  out  the  antiseptic  and  dis- 
infectants from  the  drugs  themselves.  These  latter 
she  arranged  on  a  table  by  themselves — studying 
the  labels — assuring  herself  of  their  uses.  Quinine 
for  the  regular  morning  and  evening  doses,  sul- 
phonal  and  trional  for  insomnia,  ether  for  injections 
in  case  of  anaemia  after  haemorrhage,  morphine  for 
delirium,  citrite  of  caffein  for  weakness  of  the  heart, 
tincture  of  valerian  for  the  tympanites,  bismuth  to 
relieve  nausea  and  vomiting,  and  the  crushed  ice 
128 


A  Man's  Woman 

wrapped  in  flannel  cloths  for  the  cold  pack  in  the 
event  of  hyperpyrexia. 

Later  in  the  evening  she  took  the  temperature 
in  the  armpit,  noted  the  condition  of  the  pulse,  and 
managed  to  get  Ferriss — still  in  his  quiet,  muttering 
delirium — to  drink  a  glass  of  peptonised  milk.  She 
administered  the  quinine,  reading  the  label,  as  was 
her  custom,  three  times,  once  as  she  took  it  up, 
again  as  she  measured  the  dose,  and  a  last  time  as 
she  returned  the  bottle  to  its  place.  Everything 
she  did,  every  minute  change  in  Ferriss's  condition, 
she  entered  upon  a  chart,  so  that  in  the  morning 
when  Dr.  Pitts  should  relieve  her  he  could  grasp 
the  situation  at  a  glance. 

The  night  passed  without  any  but  the  expected 
variations  of  the  pulse  and  temperature,  though 
toward  daylight  Lloyd  could  fancy  that  Ferriss, 
for  a  few  moments,  came  out  of  his  delirium  and 
was  conscious  of  his  surroundings.  For  a  few 
seconds  his  eyes  seemed  to  regain  something  of 
their  intelligence,  and  his  glance  moved  curiously 
about  the  room.  But  Lloyd,  sitting  near  the  foot- 
board of  the  bed,  turned  her  head  from  him.  It  was 
not  expedient  that  Ferris  should  recognise  her  now. 

Lloyd  could  not  but  commend  the  wisdom  of 
bringing  Ferriss  to  Dr.  Pitts's  own  house  in  so 
quiet  a  place  as  Medford.  The  doctor  risked  noth- 
ing. He  was  without  a  family,  the  only  other  occu- 
pants of  the  house  being  the  housekeeper  and  cook. 
On  more  than  one  occasion,  when  an  interesting 
case  needed  constant  watching,  Pitts  had  used  his 
house  as  a  sanatorium.  Quiet  as  the  little  village  it- 
self was,  the  house  was  removed  some  little  distance 
9  »29 


A  Man's  Woman 

from  its  outskirts.  The  air  was  fine  and  pure.  The 
stillness,  the  calm,  the  unbroken  repose,  was  almost 
Sabbath-like.  In  the  early  watches  of  the  night, 
just  at  the  turn  of  the  dawn,  Lloyd  heard  the  faint 
rumble  of  a  passing  train  at  the  station  nearly  five 
miles  away.  For  hours  that  and  the  prolonged 
stridulating  of  the  crickets  were  the  only  sounds. 
Then  at  last,  while  it  was  yet  dark,  a  faint  chittering 
of  waking  birds  began  from  under  the  eaves  and 
from  the  apple-trees  in  the  yard  about  the  house. 
Lloyd  went  to  the  window,  and,  drawing  aside  the 
curtains,  stood  there  for  a  moment  looking  out. 
She  could  see  part  of  the  road  leading  to  the  town, 
and,  in  the  distance,  the  edge  of  the  town  itself,  a  few 
well-kept  country  residences  of  suburban  dwellers 
of  the  City,  and,  farther  on,  a  large,  rectangular, 
brick  building  with  cupola,  and  flagstaff,  perhaps 
the  public  school  or  the  bank  or  the  Odd  Fellows' 
Hall.  Nearer  by  were  fields  and  corners  of  pasture 
land,  with  here  and  there  the  formless  shapes  of 
drowsing  cows.  One  of  these,  as  Lloyd  watched, 
changed  position,  and  she  could  almost  hear  the 
long,  deep  breath  that  accompanied  the  motion. 
Far  off,  miles  upon  miles,  so  it  seemed,  a  rooster  was 
crowing  at  exact  intervals.  All  at  once,  and  close 
at  hand,  another  answered — a  gay,  brisk  carillon 
that  woke  the  echoes  in  an  instant.  For  the  first 
time  Lloyd  noticed  a  pale,  dim  belt  of  light  low  in 
the  east. 

Toward  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  doctor 
came  to  relieve  her,  and  while  he  was  examining  the 
charts  and  she  was  making  her  report  for  the  night 
the  housekeeper  announced  breakfast. 
130 


A  Man's  Woman 

"  Go  down  to  your  breakfast,  Miss  Searight,"  said 
the  doctor.  "  I'll  stay  here  the  while.  The  house- 
keeper will  show  you  to  your  room." 

But  before  breakfasting  Lloyd  went  to  the  room 
the  housekeeper  had  set  apart  for  her — a  different 
one  than  had  been  occupied  by  either  of  the  previous 
nurses — changed  her  dress,  and  bathed  her  face  and 
hands  in  a  disinfecting  solution.  When  she  came 
out  of  her  room  the  doctor  met  her  in  the  hall ;  his 
hat  and  stick  were  in  his  hand.  "  He  has  gone  to 
sleep,"  he  informed  her,  "  and  is  resting  quietly.  I 
am  going  to  get  a  mouthful  of  fresh  air  along  the 
road.  The  housekeeper  is  with  him.  If  he  wakes 
she'll  call  you.  I  will  not  be  gone  fifteen  minutes. 
I've  not  been  out  of  the  house  for  five  days,  and 
there's  no  danger." 

Breakfast  had  been  laid  in  what  the  doctor  spoke 
of  as  the  glass-room.  This  was  an  enclosed  veranda, 
one  side  being  of  glass  and  opening  by  French  win- 
dows directly  upon  a  little  lawn  that  sloped  away 
under  the  apple-trees  to  the  road.  It  was  a  charm- 
ing apartment,  an  idea  of  a  sister  of  Dr.  Pitts,  who  at 
one  time  had  spent  two  years  at  Medford.  Lloyd 
breakfasted  here  alone,  and  it  was  here  that  Bennett 
found  her. 

The  one  public  carriage  of  Medford,  a  sort  of 
four-seated  carryall,  that  met  all  the  trains  at  the 
depot,  had  driven  to  the  gate  at  the  foot  of  the  yard, 
and  had  pulled  up,  the  horses  reeking  and  blowing. 
Even  before  it  had  stopped,  a  tall,  square-shoul- 
dered man  had  alighted,  but  it  was  not  until  he  was 
half-way  up  the  gravel  walk  that  Lloyd  had  recog- 
nised him.  Bennett  caught  sight  of  her  at  the  same 
131 


A  Man's  Woman 

moment,  and  strode  swiftly  across  the  lawn  and  came 
into  the  breakfast-room  by  one  of  the  open  French 
windows.  At  once  the  room  seemed  to  shrink  in 
size;  his  first  step  upon  the  floor — a  step  that  was 
almost  a  stamp,  so  eager  it  was,  so  masterful  and 
resolute — set  the  panes  of  glass  jarring  in  their 
frames.  Never  had  Bennett  seemed  more  out  of 
place  than  in  this  almost  dainty  breakfast-room, 
with  its  small,  feminine  appurtenances,  its  fragile 
glassware,  its  pots  of  flowers  and  growing  plants. 
The  incongruous  surroundings  emphasized  his 
every  roughness,  his  every  angularity.  Against  its 
background  of  delicate,  mild  tints  his  figure  loomed 
suddenly  colossal ;  the  great  span  of  his  chest  and 
shoulders  seemed  never  so  huge.  His  face;  the 
great,  brutal  jaw,  with  its  aggressive,  bullying,  for- 
ward thrust;  the  close-gripped  lips,  the  contracted 
forehead,  the  small  eyes,  marred  with  the  sharply 
defined  cast,  appeared  never  so  harsh,  never  so  mas- 
sive, never  so  significant  of  the  resistless,  crude  force 
of  the  man,  his  energy,  his  overpowering  determina- 
tion. As  he  towered  there  before  her,  one  hand 
gripped  upon  a  chair-back,  it  seemed  to  her  that 
the  hand  had  but  to  close  to  crush  the  little  var- 
nished woodwork  to  a  splinter,  and  when  he  spoke 
Lloyd  could  imagine  that  the  fine,  frail  china  of 
the  table  vibrated  to  the  deep-pitched  bass  of  his 
voice. 

Lloyd  had  only  to  look  at  him  once  to  know  that 
Bennett  was  at  the  moment  aroused  and  agitated  to 
an  extraordinary  degree.  His  face  was  congested 
and  flaming.  Under  his  frown  his  eyes  seemed 
flashing  veritable  sparks ;  his  teeth  were  set ;  in  his 


A  Man's  Woman 

temple  a  vein  stood  prominent  and  throbbing.  But 
Lloyd  was  not  surprised.  Bennett  had,  no  doubt, 
heard  of  Ferriss's  desperate  illness.  Small  wonder 
he  was  excited  when  the  life  of  his  dearest  friend 
was  threatened.  Lloyd  could  ignore  her  own  quar- 
rel with  Bennett  at  such  a  moment. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,"  she  began,  "  that  you  could  not 
have  known  sooner.  But  you  remember  you  left 
no  address.  There  was " 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ? "  he  broke  in 
abruptly.  "  What  is  the  use — why — "  he  paused 
for  a  moment  to  steady  his  voice —  "  you  can't  stay 
here,"  he  went  on.  "  Don't  you  know  the  risk  you 
are  running?  You  can't  stay  here  another  mo- 
ment." 

"  That,"  answered  Lloyd,  smiling,  "  is  a  matter 
that  is  interesting  chiefly  to  me.  I  suppose  you 
know  that,  Mr.  Bennett." 

"  I  know  that  you  are  risking  your  life  and " 

"  And  that,  too,  is  my  affair." 

"  I  have  made  it  mine,"  he  responded  quickly. 
"  Oh,"  he  exclaimed  sharply,  striking  the  back  of 
the  chair  with  his  open  palm,  "  why  must  we  always 
be  at  cross-purposes  with  each  other?  I'm  not 
good  at  talking.  What  is  the  use  of  tangling  our- 
selves with  phrases?  I  love  you,  and  I've  come  out 
here  to  ask  you,  to  beg  you,  you  understand,  to 
leave  this  house,  where  you  are  foolishly  risking 
your  life.  You  must  do  it,"  he  went  on  rapidly.  "  I 
love  you  too  well.  *  Your  life  is  too  much  to  me  to 
allow  you  to  hazard  it  senselessly,  foolishly.  There 
are  other  women,  other  nurses,  who  can  take  your 
place.  But  you  are  not  going  to  stay  here."  > 
133 


A  Man's  Woman 

Lloyd  felt  her  indignation  rising. 

"  This  is  my  profession,"  she  answered,  trying  to 
keep  back  her  anger.  "  I  am  here  because  it  is  my 
duty  to  be  here."  Then  suddenly,  as  his  extraor- 
dinary effrontery  dawned  upon  her,  she  exclaimed, 
rising  to  her  feet :  "  Do  I  need  to  explain  to  you 
what  I  do  ?  I  am  here  because  I  choose  to  be  here. 
That  is  enough.*  I  don't  care  to  go  any  further  with 
such  a  discussion  as  this." 

"  You  will  not  leave  here,  then?" 

"  No." 

Bennett  hesitated  an  instant,  searching  for  his 
words,  then : 

"  I  do  not  know  how  to  ask  favours.  I've  had  little 
experience  in  that  sort  of  thing.  You  must  know 
how  hard  it  is  for  me,  and  you  must  understand  to 
what  lengths  I  am  driven  then,  when  I  entreat  you, 
when  I  beg  of  you,  as  humbly  as  it  is  possible  for  me 
to  do  so,  to  leave  this  house,  now — at  once.  There 
is  a  train  to  the  City  within  the  hour ;  some  one  else 
can  take  your  place  before  noon.  We  can  tele- 
graph ;  will  you  go  ?  " 

"  You  are  absurd." 

"Lloyd,  can't  you  see;  don't  you  understand? 
It's  as  though  I  saw  you  rushing  toward  a  precipice 
with  your  eyes  shut." 

"  My  place  is  here.     I  shall  not  leave." 

But  Bennett's  next  move  surprised  her.  His 
eagerness,  his  agitation  left  him  upon  the  instant 
He  took  out  his  watch. 

"  I  was  wrong,"  he  said  quietly.  "  The  next 
train  will  not  go  for  an  hour  and  a  quarter.  There 
is  more  time  than  I  supposed."  Then,  with  as  much 


A  Man's  Woman 

gentleness  as  he  could  command,  he  added: 
"  Lloyd,  you  are  going  to  take  that  train  ?  " 

"  Now,  you  are  becoming  a  little  more  than 
absurd,"  she  answered.  "  I  don't  know,  Mr.  Ben- 
nett, whether  or  not  you  intend  to  be  offensive,  but 
I  think  you  are  succeeding  rather  well.  You  came 
to  this  house  uninvited;  you  invade  a  gentleman's 
private  residence,  and  you  attempt  to  meddle  and  to 
interfere  with  me  in  the  practice  of  my  profession. 
If  you  think  you  can  impress  me  with  heroics  and 
declamation,  please  correct  yourself  at  once.  You 
have  only  succeeded  in  making  yourself  a  little 
vulgar." 

"  That  may  be  true  or  not,"  he  answered  with  an 
indifferent  movement  of  his  shoulders.  "  It  is  all 
one  to  me.  I  have  made  up  my  mind  that  you  shall 
leave  this  house  this  morning,  and  believe  me,  Miss 
Searight,  I  shall  carry  my  point." 

For  the  moment  Lloyd  caught  her  breath.  For 
the  moment  she  saw  clearly  with  just  what  sort  of 
man  she  had  to  deal.  There  was  a  conviction  in 
his  manner — now  that  he  had  quieted  himself — that 
suddenly  appeared  unanswerable.  It  was  like  the 
slow,  still  moving  of  a  piston. 

But  the  next  moment  her  own  character  reas- 
serted itself.*  She  remembered  what  she  was  her- 
self. If  he  was  determined,  she  was  obstinate;  if 
he  was  resolved,  she  was  stubborn  ;  if  he  was  power- 
ful, she  was  unyielding.  Never  had  she  conceded 
her  point  before ;  never  had  she  allowed  herself  to  be 
thwarted  in  the  pursuance  of  a  course  she  believed 
to  be  right.  Was  she,  of  all  women,  to  yield  now? 
The  consciousness  of  her  own  power  of  resistance 


A  Man's  Woman 

came  suddenly  to  her  aid.  Bennett  was  strong,  but 
was  she  not  strong  herself?  Where  under  the  blue 
sky  was  the  power  that  could  break  down  her  will? 
When  death  itself  could  not  prevail  against  her, 
what  in  life  could  shake  her  resolution  ?  ' 

Suddenly  the  tremendous  import  of  the  moment, 
the  magnitude  of  the  situation,  flashed  upon  Lloyd. 
Both  of  them  had  staked  everything  upon  this  issue. 
Two  characters  of  extraordinary  power  clashed 
violently  together.  There  was  to  be  no  compro- 
mise, no  half-measures.  Either  she  or  Bennett 
must  in  the  end  be  beaten.  One  of  them  was  to  be 
broken  and  humbled  beyond  all  retrieving.  There 
in  that  commonplace  little  room,  with  its  trivial 
accessories,  its  inadequate  background,  a  battle 
royal  swiftly  prepared  itself.  With  the  abruptness 
of  an  explosion  the  crisis  developed. 

"  Do  I  need  to  tell  you,"  remarked  Bennett,  "  that 
your  life  is  rather  more  to  me  than  any  other  con- 
sideration in  the  world  ?  Do  you  suppose  when  the 
lives  of  every  member  of  my  command  depended 
upon  me  I  was  any  less  resolved  to  succeed  than  I 
am  now?  I  succeeded  then,  and  I  shall  succeed 
now,  now  when  there  is  much  more  at  stake.  I  am 
not  accustomed  to  failure,  and  I  shall  not  fail  now. 
I  assure  you  that  I  shall  stop  at  nothing." 

It  was  beyond  Lloyd  to  retain  her  calmness 
under  such  aggression.  It  seemed  as  though 
her  self-respect  demanded  that  she  should  lose  her 
temper. 

"  And  you  think  you  can  drive  me  as  you  drove 
your  deck-hands  ?  "  she  exclaimed.  "  What  have 
you  to  do  with  me  ?  Am  I  your  subordinate  ?  Do 
136 


A  Man's  Woman 

you  think  you  can  bully  me  ?    We  are  not  in  Kolyu- 
chin  Bay,  Mr.  Bennett." 

"  You're  the  woman  I  love,"  he  answered  with 
an  abrupt  return  of  vehemence,  "  and,  by  God  1  I 
shall  stop  at  nothing  to  save  your  life." 

"  And  my  love  for  you,  that  you  pretend  is  so 
much  to  you,  I  suppose  that  this  is  the  means  you 
take  to  awaken  it.  Admitting,  for  the  moment, 
that  you  could  induce  me  to  shirk  my  duty,  how 
should  I  love  you  for  it  ?  Ask  yourself  that." 

But  Bennett  had  but  one  answer  to  all  her  words. 
He  struck  his  fist  into  the  palm  of  his  hand  as  he 
answered : 

"  Your  life  is  more  to  me  than  any  other  consider- 
ation." 

"  But  my  life — how  do  you  know  it  is  a  question 
of  my  life  ?  Come,  if  we  are  to  quarrel,  let  us  quar- 
rel upon  reasonable  grounds.  It  does  not  follow 
that  I  risk  my  life  by  staying " 

"  Leave  the  house  first ;  we  can  talk  of  that  after- 
ward." 

"  I  have  allowed  you  to  talk  too  much  already^," 
she  exclaimed  angrily.  "  Let  us  come  to  the  bot- 
tom of  things  at  once.  I  will  not  be  influenced  nor 
cajoled  nor  bullied  into  leaving  my  post.  Now,  do 
you  understand?  That  is  my  final  answer.  You 
who  were  a  commander,  who  were  a  leader  of  men, 
what  would  you  have  done  if  one  of  your  party  had 
left  his  post  at  a  time  of  danger?  I  can  tell  you 
what  you  would  have  done — you  would  have  shot 
him,  ajter  first  disgracing  him,  and  now  you  would 
disgrace  me.  Is  it  reasonable?  Is  it  consistent?" 

Bennett  snapped  his  fingers. 
J37 


A  Man's    Woman 

"  That  for  consistency !  " 

"  And  you  would  be  willing  to  disgrace  me — to 
have  me  disgrace  myself  ?  " 

"  Your  life "  began  Bennett  again. 

But  suddenly  Lloyd  flashed  out  upon  him  with: 
"  My  life !  My  life !  Are  there  not  some  things 
better  than  life  ?  You,  above  all  men,  should  under- 
stand that  much.  Oh,  be  yourself,  be  the  man  I 
thought  you  were.  You  have  your  code;  let  me 
have  mine.  You  could  not  be  what  you  are,  you 
could  not  have  done  what  you  did,  if  you  had  not 
set  so  many  things  above  merely  your  life.  Admit 
that  you  could  not  have  loved  me  unless  you  be- 
lieved that  I  could  do  the  same.  How  could  you 
still  love  me  if  you  knew  I  had  failed  in  my  duty? 
How  could  you  still  love  me  if  you  knew  that  you 
had  broken  down  my  will  ?  I  know  you  better  than 
you  know  yourself.  You  loved  me  because  you 
knew  me  to  be  strong  and  brave  and  to  be  above 
petty  deceptions  and  shams  and  subterfuges.  And 
now  you  ask  me  to  fail,  to  give  up,  to  shirk,  and  you 
tell  me  you  do  so  because  you  love  me." 

"  That  is  all  so  many  words  to  me.  I  cannot 
argue  with  you,  and  there  is  no  time  for  it.  I  did 
not  come  here  to — converse." 

Never  in  her  life  before  had  Lloyd  been  so  angry 
as  at  that  moment.  The  sombre  crimson  of  her 
cheeks  had  suddenly  given  place  to  an  unwonted 
paleness ;  even  her  dull-blue  eyes,  that  so  rarely 
sparkled,  were  all  alight.  She  straightened  her- 
self. 

"  Very  well,  then,"  she  answered  quietly,  "  our 
conversation  can  stop  where  it  is.  You  will  excuse 
138 


A  Man's  Woman 

me,  Mr.  Bennett,  if  I  leave  you.  I  have  my  work 
to  do." 

Bennett  was  standing  between  her  and  the  door. 
He  did  not  move.     Very  gravely  he  said : 
"  Don't.     Please  don't  bring  it — to  that." 
Lloyd  flashed  a  look  at  him,  her  eyes  wide,  ex- 
claiming : 

"  You  don't  mean — you  don't  dare " 

"  I  tell  you  again  that  I  mean  to  carry  my  point." 
"  And  I  tell  you  that  I  shall  not  leave  my  pa- 
tient." 

Bennett  met  her  glance  for  an  instant,  and,  hold- 
ing her  gaze  with  his,  answered  but  two  words. 
Speaking  in  a  low  voice  and  with  measured  slow- 
ness, he  said : 

"  You— shall." 

*  There  was  a  silence.  The  two  stood  there,  look- 
ing straight  into  one  another's  eyes,  their  mutual 
opposition  at  its  climax.  The  seconds  began  to 
pass.  The  conflict  between  the  man's  aggression 
and  the  woman's  resistance  reached  its  turning 
point.  Before  another  word  should  be  spoken,  be- 
fore the  minute  should  pass,  one  of  the  two  must 
give  ground. 

And  then  it  was  that  Lloyd  felt  something  break- 
down within  her,  something  to  which  she  could 
not  put  a  name.  A  mysterious  element  of  her  char- 
acter, hitherto  rigid  and  intact,  was  beginning  at 
last  to  crumble.  Somewhere  a  breach  had  been 
opened;  somewhere  the  barrier  had  been  under- 
mined. The  fine  steadfastness  that  was  hers,  and 
that  she  had  so  dearly  prized,  her  strength  in  which 
she  had  gloried,  her  independence,,  her  splendid 
139 


A  Man's  Woman 

arrogant  self-confidence  and  conscious  power 
seemed  all  at  once  to  weaken  before  this  iron  re- 
solve that  shut  its  ears  and  eyes,  this  colossal,  un- 
tutored, savage  intensity  of  purpose.  * 

And  abruptly  her  eyes  were  opened,  and  the  in- 
herent weakness  of  her  sex  became  apparent  to  her. 
Was  it  a  mistake,  then?  Could  not  a  woman  be 
strong?  Was  her  strength  grafted  upon  elemental 
weakness — not  her  individual  weakness,  but  the 
weakness  of  her  sex,  the  intended  natural  weakness 
of  the  woman  ?  Had  she  built  her  fancied  impreg- 
nable fortress  upon  sand? 

But  habit  was  too  strong.  For  an  instant,  brief 
as  the  opening  and  shutting  of  an  eye,  a  vision  was 
vouchsafed  to  her,  one  of  those  swift  glimpses  into 
unplumbed  depths  that  come  sometimes  to  the  hu- 
man mind  in  the  moments  of  its  exaltation,  but  that 
are  gone  with  such  rapidity  that  they  may  not  be 
trusted.  For  an  instant  Lloyd  saw  deep  down  into 
the  black,  mysterious  gulf  of  sex — down,  down,  down 
where,  immeasurably  below  the  world  of  little  things, 
the  changeless,  dreadful  machinery  of  Life  itself 
worked,  clashing  and  resistless  in  its  grooves.  It  was 
a  glimpse  fortunately  brief,  a  vision  that  does  not 
come  too  often,  lest  reason,  brought  to  the  edge  of 
the  abyss,  grow  giddy  at  the  sight  and,  reeling,  top- 
ple headlong.  But  quick  the  vision  passed,  the  gulf 
closed,  and  she  felt  the  firm  ground  again  beneath 
her  feet.  , 

"  I  shall  not,"  she  cried. 

Was  it  the  same  woman  who  had  spoken  but  one 
moment  before?  Did  her  voice  ring  with  the  same 
undaunted  defiance?  Was  there  not  a  note  of  de- 
140 


A  Man's  Woman 

spair  in  her  tones,  a  barely  perceptible  quaver,  the 
symbol  of  her  wavering  resolve?  Was  not  the 
very  fact  that  she  must  question  her  strength  proof 
positive  that  her  strength  was  waning? 

But  her  courage  was  unshaken,  even  if  her 
strength  was  breaking.  To  the  last  she  would 
strive,  to  the  end  she  would  hold  her  forehead  high. 
Not  till  the  last  hope  had  been  tried  would  she 
acknowledge  her  defeat. 

"  But  in  any  case,"  she  said,  "  risk  is  better  than 
certainty.  If  I  risk  my  life  by  staying,  it  is  certain 
that  he  will  die  if  I  leave  him  at  this  critical  mo- 
ment." 

"  So  much  the  worse,  then — you  cannot  stay." 

Lloyd  stared  at  him  in  amazement. 

"  It  isn't  possible ;  I  don't  believe  you  can  under- 
stand. Do  you  know  how  sick  he  is?  Do  you 
know  that  he  is  lying  at  the  point  of  death  at  this 
very  moment,  and  that  the  longer  I  stay  away  from 
him  the  more  his  life  is  in  peril  ?  Has  he  not  rights 
as  well  as  I ;  has  he  not  a  right  to  live  ?  It  is  not 
only  my  own  humiliation  that  is  at  stake,  it  is  the 
life  of  your  dearest  friend,  the  man  who  stood  by 
you,  and  helped  you,  and  who  suffered  the  same 
hardships  and  privations  as  yourself." 

"What's  that?"  demanded  Bennett  with  a  sud- 
den frown. 

"  If  I  leave  Mr.  Ferriss  now,  if  he  is  left  alone 
here  for  so  much  as  half  an  hour,  I  will  not  an- 

"  Ferriss !    What  are  you  talking  about  ?    What 
is  your  patient's  name  ?  " 
"  Didn't  you  know  ?  " 


A  Man's  Woman 

"  Ferriss !  Dick  Ferriss !  Don't  tell  me  it's  Dick 
Ferriss." 

"  I  thought  all  the  time  you  knew — that  you  had 
heard.  Yes,  it  is  Mr.  Ferriss." 

"  Is  he  very  sick?  What  is  he  doing  out  here? 
No,  I  had  not  heard ;  nobody  told  me.  Pitts  was  to 
write — to — to  wire.  Will  he  pull  through  ?  What's 
the  matter  with  him  ?  Is  it  he  who  had  typhoid  ?  " 

"  He  is  very  dangerously  ill.  Dr.  Pitts  brought 
him  here.  This  is  his  house.  We  do  not  know  if 
he  will  get  well.  It  is  only  by  watching  him  every 
instant  that  we  can  hope  for  anything.  At  this  mo- 
ment there  is  no  one  with  him  but  a  servant.  Now, 
Mr.  Bennett,  am  I  to  go  to  my  patient  ?  " 

"  But — but — we  can  get  some  one  else." 

"  Not  before  three  hours,  and  it's  only  the  truth 
when  I  tell  you  he  may  die  at  any  minute".  Am  I 
to  go?" 

In  a  second  of  time  the  hideous  situation  leaped 
up  before  Bennett's  eyes.  Right  or  wrong,  the  con- 
viction that  Lloyd  was  terribly  imperilling  her  life 
by  remaining  at  her  patient's  bedside  had  sunk  into 
his  mind  and  was  not  to  be  eradicated.  It  was  a 
terror  that  had  gripped  him  close  and  that  could 
not  be  reasoned  away.  But  Ferriss  ?  What  of  him  ? 
Now  it  had  brusquely  transpired  that  his  life,  too, 
hung  in  the  balance.  How  to  decide?  How  to 
meet  this  abominable  complication  wherein  he  must 
sacrifice  the  woman  he  so  dearly  loved  or  the  man 
who  was  the  Damon  to  his  Pythias,  the  Jonathan 
to  his  David? 

"  Am  I  to  go  ? "  repeated  Lloyd  for  the  third 
time.  , 

142 


A  Man's  Woman 

Bennett  closed  his  eyes,  clasping  his  head  with 
both  hands. 

"  Great   God,   wait — wait — I   can't   think — I — I, 
oh,  this  is  terrible !  " 

Lloyd  drove  home  her  advantage  mercilessly. 

"  Wait  ?  I  tell  you  we  can't  wait." 
*Then  Bennett  realised  with  a  great  spasm  of  hor- 
ror that  for  him  there  was  no  going  back.  All  his 
life,  accustomed  to  quick  decisions  in  moments  of 
supreme  peril,  he  took  his  decision  now,  facing, 
with  such  courage  as  he  could  muster,  its  unspeak- 
able consequences,  consequences  that  he  knew  must 
harry  and  hound  him  all  the  rest  of  his  life.  Which- 
ever way  he  decided,  he  opened  his  heart  to  the  beak 
and  talons  of  a  pitiless  remorse.  He  could  no 
longer  see,  in  the  dreadful  confusion  of  his  mind, 
the  right  of  things  or  the  wrong  of  things,  could  not 
accurately  weigh  chances  or  possibilities.  For  him 
only  two  alternatives  presented  themselves,  the 
death  of  Ferriss  or  the  death  of  Lloyd.  He  could 
see  no  compromise,  could  imagine  no  escape.  It 
was  as  though  a  headsman  with  ready  axe  stood  at 
his  elbow,  awaiting  his  commands.  And,  besides 
all  this,  he  had  long  since  passed  the  limit — though 
perhaps  he  did  not  know  it  himself — where  he  could 
see  anything  but  the  point  he  had  determined  to 
gain,  the  goal  he  had  determined  to  reach.  His 
mind  was  made  up.*  His  furious  energy,  his  resolve 
to  conquer  at  all  costs,  had  become  at  last  a  sort 
of  directed  frenzy.  The  engine  he  had  set  in  mo- 
tion was  now  beyond  his  control.  He  could  not 
now — whether  he  would  or  no — reverse  its  action, 
swerve  it  from  its  iron  path,  call  it  back  from  the 
143 


A  Man's  Woman 

monstrous  catastrophe  toward  which  it  was  speed- 
ing him. 

"  God  help  us  all !  "  he  muttered. 

"  Well,"  said  Lloyd  expectantly. 

Bennett  drew  a  deep  breath,  his  hands  falling 
helplessly  at  his  sides.  In  a  way  he  appeared  sud- 
denly bowed;  the  great  frame  of  bone  and  sinew 
seemed  in  some  strange,  indefinable  manner  to 
shrink,  to  stagger  under  the  sudden  assumption  of 
an  intolerable  burden — a  burden  that  was  never  to 
be  lifted. 

Even  then,  however,  Bennett  still  believed  in  the 
wisdom  of  his  course,  still  believed  himself  to  be 
right.  But,  right  or  wrong,  he  now  must  go  for- 
ward. Was  it  fate,  was  it  doom,  was  it  destiny  ? 

Bennett's  entire  life  had  been  spent  in  the  working 
out  of  great  ideas  in  the  face  of  great  obstacles ;  con- 
tinually he  had  been  called  upon  to  overcome  enor- 
mous difficulties  with  enormous  strength.  For  long 
periods  of  time  he  had  been  isolated  from  civilisa- 
tion, had  been  face  to  face  with  the  simple,  crude 
forces  of  an  elemental  world — forces  that  were  to  be 
combated  and  overthrown  by  means  no  less  simple 
and  crude  than  themselves.  He  had  lost  the  faculty, 
possessed,  no  doubt,  by  smaller  minds,  of  dealing 
with  complicated  situations.  To  resort  to  expedi- 
ents, to  make  concessions,  was  all  beyond  him.  For 
him  a  thing  was  absolutely  right  or  absolutely 
wrong,  and  between  the  two  there  was  no  gradation. 
For  so  long  a  time  had  he  looked  at  the  larger, 
broader  situations  of  life  that  his  mental  vision  had 
become  all  deformed  and  confused.  He  saw  things 
invariably  magnified  beyond  all  proportion,  or  else 
144 


A  Man's  Woman 

dwarfed  to  a  littleness  that  was  beneath  considera- 
tion. Normal  vision  was  denied  him.  It  was  as 
though  he  studied  the  world  through  one  or  the 
other  ends  of  a  telescope,  and  when,  as  at  present, 
his  emotions  were  aroused,  matters  were  only  made 
the  worse.  The  idea  that  Ferriss  might  recover, 
though  Lloyd  should  leave  him  at  this  moment, 
hardly  presented  itself  to  his  mind.  He  was  con- 
vinced that  if  Lloyd  went  away  Ferriss  would  die; 
Lloyd  had  said  as  much  herself.  The  hope  that 
Lloyd  might,  after  all,  nurse  him  through  his  sick- 
ness without  danger  to  herself  was  so  remote  that 
he  did  not  consider  it  for  one  instant.  If  Lloyd 
remained  she,  like  the  other  nurse,  would  contract 
the  disease  and  die. 

These  were  the  half-way  measures  Bennett  did 
not  understand,  the  expedients  he  could  no  longer 
see.  It  was  either  Lloyd  or  Ferriss.  He  must 
choose  between  them. 

Bennett  went  to  the  door  of  the  room,  .closed  it 
and  leaned  against  it. 

"  No,"  he  said. 

Lloyd  was  stricken  speechless.  For  the  instant 
she  shrank  before  him  as  if  from  a  murderer.  Ben- 
nett now  knew  precisely  the  terrible  danger  in  which 
he  left  the  man  who  was  his  dearest  friend.  Would 
he  actually  consent  to  his  death  ?  It  was  almost  be- 
yond belief,  and  for  the  moment  Lloyd  herself 
quailed  before  him.  Her  first  thoughts  were  not  of 
herself,  but  of  Ferriss.  If  he  was  Bennett's  friend 
he  was  her  friend  too.  At  that  very  moment  he 
might  be  dying  for  want  of  her  care.  She  was  fast 
becoming  desperate.  For  the  moment  she  could 

10  145 


A  Man's  Woman 

put  all  thought  of  herself  and  of  her  own  dignity  in 
the  background. 

"  What  is  it  you  want  ?  "  she  cried.  "  Is  it  my 
humiliation  you  ask  ?  Well,  then,  you  have  it.  It 
is  as  hard  for  me  to  ask  favours  as  it  is  for  you.  I 
am  as  proud  as  you,  but  I  entreat  you,  you  hear  me, 
as  humbly  as  I  can,  to  let  me  go.  What  do  you 
want  more  than  that?  Oh,  can't  you  understand? 
Wrhile  we  talk  here,  while  you  keep  me  here,  he  may 
be  dying.  Is  it  a  time  for  arguments,  is  it  a  time 
for  misunderstandings,  is  it  a  time  to  think  of  our- 
selves, of  our  own  lives,  our  own  little  affairs  ?  " 
She  clasped  her  hands.  "  Will  you  please— can  I, 
can  I  say  more  than  that;  will  you  please  let  me 
go?" 

"  No." 

With  a  great  effort  Lloyd  tried  to  regain  her  self- 
control.  She  paused  a  moment,  then : 

"  Listen !  "  she  said.  "  You  say  that  you  love 
me;  that  I  am  more  to  you  than  even  Mr.  Ferriss, 
your  truest  friend.  I  do  not  wish  to  think  of  myself 
at  such  a  time  as  this,  but  supposing  that  you  should 
make  me — that  I  should  consent  to  leave  my  patient. 
Think  of  me  then,  afterward.  Can  I  go  back  there 
to  the  house,  the  house  that  I  built?  Can  I  face 
the  women  of  my  profession?  What  would  they 
think  of  me?  What  would  my  friends  think  of 
me — I  who  have  held  my  head  so  high  ?  You  will 
ruin  my  life.  I  should  have  to  give  up  my  profes- 
sion. Oh,  can't  you  see  in  what  position  yon  would 
place  me?  "  Suddenly  the  tears  sprang  to  her  eves. 
"  No !  "  she  cried  vehemently.  "  No,  no,  no,  I  will 
not,  I  will  not  be  disgraced !  " 
146 


A  Man's  Woman 

"  I  have  no  wish  to  disgrace  you,"  answered  Ben- 
nett "  It  is  strange  for  you  to  say  that  to  me,  if  I 
love  you  so  well  that  I  can  give  up  Ferriss  for " 

"Then,  if  you  love  me  so  much  as  that,  there 
must  be  one  thing  that  you  would  set  even  above  my 
life.  Do  you  wish  to  make  me  hate  you  ?  " 

"  There  is  nothing  in  the  world  more  to  me  than 
your  life ;  you  know  that.  How  can  you  think  it  of 
me?" 

"  Because  you  don't  understand — because  you 
don't  know  that — oh,  that  I  love  you!  I — no — I 
didn't  mean — I  didn't  mean " 

What  had  she  said  ?  What  had  happened  ?  How 
was  it  that  the  words  that  yesterday  she  would  have 
been  ashamed  to  so  much  as  whisper  to  herself  had 
now  rushed  to  her  lips  almost  of  their  own  accord? 
After  all  those  years  of  repression,  suddenly  the 
sweet,  dim  thought  she  had  hidden  in  her  secretest 
heart's  heart  had  leaped  to  light  and  to  articulate 
words.  I  Unasked,  unbidden,  she  had  told  him  that 
she  loved  him.  She,  she  had  done  this  thing  when, 
but  a  few  moments  before,  her  anger  against  him 
had  shaken  her  to  her  very  finger-tips.  The  hot, 
intolerable  shame  of  it  smote  like  fire  into  her  face. 
Her  world  was  cracking  about  her  ears ;  everything 
she  had  prized  the  dearest  was  being  torn  from  her, 
everything  she  had  fancied  the  strongest  was  being 
overthrown.  Had  she,  she  who  had  held  herself 
so  proud  and  high,  come  at  last  to  this  ? 

Swiftly  she  turned  from  him  and  clasped  her 

hands  before  her  eyes  and  sank  down  into  the  chair 

she  had  quitted,  bowing  her  head  upon  her  arms, 

hiding  her  face,  shutting  herself  from  the  light  of 

147 


A  Man's  Woman 

day,  quivering  and  thrilling  with  an  agony  of  shame 
and  with  an  utter,  an  abject  self-contempt  that  was 
beyond  all  power  of  expression.  But  the  instant 
she  felt  Bennett's  touch  upon  her  shoulder  she 
sprang  up  as  if  a  knife  had  pierced  her,  and  shrank 
from  him,  turning  her  head  away,  her  hand,  palm 
outward,  before  her  eyes. 

"  Oh,  please !  "  she  begged  piteously,  almost  in- 
articulately in  the  stress  of  her  emotion,  "  don't — 
if  you  are  a  man — don't  take  advantage — please, 
please  don't  touch  me.  Let  me  go  away." 

She  was  talking  to  deaf  ears.  In  two  steps  Ben- 
nett had  reached  her  side  and  had  taken  her  in  his 
arms.  Lloyd  could  not  resist.  Her  vigour  of  body 
as  well  as  of  mind  was  crushed  and  broken  and 
beaten  down ;  and  why  was  it  that  in  spite  of  her 
shame,  that  in  spite  of  her  unutterable  self-reproach, 
the  very  touch  of  her  cheek  upon  his  shoulder  was  a 
comfort?  Why  was  it  that  to  feel  herself  carried 
away  in  the  rush  of  this  harsh,  impetuous,  masculine 
power  was  a  happiness  ?  Why  was  it  that  to  know 
that  her  prided  fortitude  and  hitherto  unshaken 
power  were  being  overwhelmed  and  broken  with  a 
brutal,  ruthless  strength  was  an  exultation  and  a 
glory?  Why  was  it  that  she  who  but  a  moment 
before  quailed  from  his  lightest  touch  now  put  her 
arms  about  his  neck  and  clung  to  him  with  a  sense 
of  protection  and  of  refuge,  the  need  of  which  she 
had  a'ways  and  until  that  very  moment  disdained  ? 

"  Why  should  you  be  sorry  because  you  spoke?  " 

said  Bennett.     "  I  knew  that  you  loved  me  and  you 

kr.^w  that  T  loved  you.     What  does  it  matter  if  you 

said  it  or  did  not  say  it  ?    We  know  each  other,  you 

148 


A  Man's  Woman 

and  I.  We  understand.  You  knew  that  I  loved 
you.  You  think  that  I  have  been  strong  and  deter- 
mined, and  have  done  the  things  I  set  out  to  do; 
what  I  am  is  what  you  made  me.  What  I  have 
done  I  have  done  because  I  thought  you  would 
approve.  Do  you  think  I  would  have  come  back 
if  I  had  not  known  that  I  was  coming  back  to  you  ?  " 
Suddenly  an  impatient  exclamation  escaped  him, 
and  his  clasp  about  her  tightened.  "  Oh !  words — 
the  mere  things  that  one  can  say,  seem  so  pitiful, 
so  miserably  inadequate.  Don't  you  know,  can't 
you  feel  what  you  are  to  me  ?  Tell  me,  do  you  think 
I  love  you  ?  " 

But  she  could  not  bear  to  meet  his  glance  just  yet. 
Her  eyes  were  closed,  and  she  could  only  nod  her 
head. 

But  Bennett  took  her  head  in  both  his  hands  and 
turned  her  face  to  his.  Even  yet  she  kept  her  eyes 
closed. 

"  Lloyd,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  was  almost  a 
command ;  "  Lloyd,  look  at  me.  Do  you  love  me  ?  " 

She  drew  a'  deep  breath.  Then  her  sweet  dull- 
blue  eyes  opened,  and  through  the  tears  that 
brimmed  them  and  wet  her  lashes  she  looked  at  him 
and  met  his  glance  fearlessly  and  almost  proudly, 
and  her  voice  trembled  and  vibrated  with  an  in- 
finite tenderness  as  she  answered : 

"  I  do  love  you,  Ward ;  love  you  with  all  my 
heart." 

Then,  after  a  pause,  she  said,  drawing  a  little  from 
him  and  resting  a  hand  upon  either  shoulder : 

"  But  listen,  dear ;  we  must  not  think  of  ourselves 
now.  We  must  think  of  him,  so  sick  and  weak  and 


A  Man's  Woman 

helpless.  This  is  a  terrible  moment  in  our  lives. 
I  don't  know  why  it  has  come  to  us.  I  don't  know 
why  it  should  all  have  happened  as  it  has  this  morn- 
ing. Just  a  few  moments  ago  I  was  angry  as  I 
never  was  in  my  life  before — and  at  you — and  now 
it  seems  to  me  that  I  never  was  so  happy;  I  don't 
know  myself  any  more.  Everything  is  confused ; 
all  we  can  do  is  to  hold  to  what  we  know  is  right 
and  trust  that  everything  will  be  well  in  the  end. 
It  is  a  crisis,  isn't  it  ?  And  all  our  lives  and  all  our 
happiness  depend  upon  how  we  meet  it.  I  am  all 
different  now.  I  am  not  the  woman  I  was  a  half- 
hour  ago.  You  must  be  brave  for  me  now,  and  you 
must  be  strong  for  me  and  help  me  to  do  my  duty. 
We  must  live  up  to  the  best  that  is  in  us  and  do 
Avhat  we  think  is  right,  no  matter  what  risks  we  run, 
no  matter  what  the  consequences  are.  I  would  not 
have  asked  you  to  help  me  before — before  what  has 
happened — but  now  I  need  your  help.  You  have 
said  I  helped  you  to  be  brave ;  help  me  to  be  brave 
now,  and  to  do  what  I  know  is  right." 

But  Bennett  was  still  blind.  If  she  had  been  dear 
to  him  before,  how  doubly  so  had  she  become  since 
she  had  confessed  her  love  for  him !  Ferriss  was 
forgotten,  ignored.  He  could  not  let  her  go,  he 
could  not  let  her  run  the  slightest  risk.  Was  he  to 
take  any  chance  of  losing  her  now  ?  He  shook  his 
head. 

"  Ward !  "  she  exclaimed  with  deep  and  serious 
earnestness.  "  If  you  do  not  wish  me  to  risk  my  life 
by  going  to  my  post,  be  careful,  oh,  be  very  careful, 
that  you  do  not  risk  something  that  is  more  to  us 
both  than  life  itself,  by  keeping  me  from  it  Do 
150 


A  Man's  Woman 

you  think  I  could  love  you  so  deeply  and  so  truly 
as  I  do  if  I  had  not  kept  my  standards  high;  if  I 
had  not  believed  in  the  things  that  were  better  than 
life,  and  stronger  than  death,  and  dearer  to  me  than 
even  love  itself?  There  are  some  things  I  cannot 
do :  I  cannot  be  false,  I  cannot  be  cowardly,  I  can- 
not shirk  my  duty.  Now  I  am  helpless  in  your 
hands.  You  have  conquered,  and  you  can  do  with 
me  as  you  choose.  But  if  you  make  me  do  what  is 
false,  and  what  is  cowardly,  and  what  is  dishonour- 
able ;  if  you  stand  between  me  and  what  I  know  is 
my  duty,  how  can  I  love  you,  how  can  I  love  you  ?  " 

Persistently,  perversely,  Bennett  stopped  his  ears 
to  every  consideration,  to  every  argument.  She 
wished  to  hazard  her  life.  That  was  all  he  under- 
stood. 

"  No,  Lloyd,"  he  answered,  "  you  must  not  do  it." 

" and  I  want  to  love  you,"  she  went  on,  as 

though  she  had  not  heard.  "  I  want  you  to  be 
everything  to  me.  I  have  trusted  you  so  long — had 
faith  in  you  so  long,  I  don't  want  to  think  of  you 
as  the  man  who  failed  me  when  I  most  needed  his 
help,  who  made  me  do  the  thing  that  was  contempti- 
ble and  unworthy.  Believe  me,"  she  went  on  with 
sudden  energy,  "  you  will  kill  my  love  for  you  if  you 
persist." 

But  before  Bennett  could  answer  there  was  a  cry. 

"  It  is  the  servant,"  exclaimed  Lloyd  quickly. 
"  She  has  been  watching — there  in  the  room  with 
him." 

"  Nurse — Miss  Searight,"  came  the  crv,  "  quick 
— there  is  something  wrong — I  don't  know — oh, 
hurry !  " 


A  Man's  Woman 

"  Do  you  hear  ?  "  cried  Lloyd.  "  It  is  the  crisis 
• — he  may  be  dying.  Oh,  Ward,  it  is  the  man  you 
love!  We  can  save  him."  She  stamped  her  foot 
in  the  frenzy  of  her  emotion,  her  hands  twisting 
together.  "  I  will  go.  I  forbid  you  to  keep — to 
hinder — to — to,  oh,  what  is  to  become  of  us?  If 
you  love  me,  if  you  love  him — Ward,  will  yoil  let  me 
go?  " 

Bennett  put  his  hands  over  his  ears,  his  eyes 
closed.  In  the  horror  of  that  moment,  when  he 
realised  that  no  matter  how  he  might  desire  it  he 
could  not  waver  in  his  resolution,  it  seemed  to  him 
that  his  reason  must  give  way.  But  he  set  his  back 
to  the  door,  his  hand  gripped  tight  upon  the  knob, 
and  through  his  set  teeth  his  answer  came  as  before : 

"  No." 

"  Nurse — Miss  Searight,  where  are  you  ?  Hurry, 
oh,  hurry !  " 

"  Will  you  let  me  go  ?  " 

"  No."' 

Lloyd  caught  at  his  hand,  shut  so  desperately 
upon  the  knob,  striving  to  loosen  his  clasp.  She 
hardly  knew  what  she  was  doing;  she  threw  her 
arms  about  his  neck,  imploring,  commanding,  now 
submissive,  now  imperious,  her  voice  now  vibrating 
with  anger,  now  trembling  with  passionate  entreaty. 

"  You  are  not  only  killing  him,  you  are  killing  my 
love  for  you ;  will  you  let  me  go — the  love  that  is 
so  dear  to  me?  Let  me  love  you,  Ward;  listen  to 
me;  don't  make  me  hate  you;  let  me  love  you, 
dear " 

"  Hurry,  oh,  hurry!  " 

"  Let  me  love  you ;  let  him  live.  I  want  to  love 
152 


A  Man's  Woman 

you.  It's  the  best  happiness  in  my  life.  Let  me 
be  happy.  Can't  you  see  what  this  moment  is  to 
mean  for  us?  It  is  our  happiness  or  wretchedness 
forever.  Will  .you  let  me  go  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  For  the  last  time,  Ward,  listen !  It  is  my  love 
for  you  and  his  life.  Don't  crush  us  both — yes,  and 
yourself.  You  who  can,  who  are  so  powerful,  don't 
trample  all  our  happiness  under  foot." 

"  Hurry,  hurry;  oh,  will  nobody  come  to  help?  " 

"  Will  you  let  me  go?  " 

"  No." 

Her  strength  seemed  all  at  once  to  leave  her.  All 
the  fabric  of  her  character,  so  mercilessly  assaulted, 
appeared  in  that  moment  to  reel,  topple,  and  go 
crashing  to  its  wreck.  She  was  shattered,  broken, 
humbled,  and  beaten  down  to  the  dust.  Her  pride 
was  gone,  her  faith  in  herself  was  gone,  her  fine, 
strong  energy  was  gone.  The  pity  of  it,  the  grief 
of  it;  all  that  she  held  dearest;  her  fine  and 
confident  steadfastness;  the  great  love  that  had 
brought  such  happiness  into  her  life — that  had  been 
her  inspiration,  all  torn  from  her  and  tossed  aside 
like  chaff.  And  her  patient — Ferriss,  the  man  who 
loved  her,  who  had  undergone  such  suffering,  such 
hardship,  who  trusted  her  and  whom  it  was  her  duty 
to  nurse  back  to  life  and  health — if  he  should  perish 
for  want  of  her  care,  then  what  infinite  sorrow,  then 
what  endless  remorse,  then  what  long  agony  of 
unavailing  regret !  Her  world,  her  universe  srrew 
dark  to  her;  she  was  driven  from  her  firm  stand. 
She  was  lost,  she  was  whirled  awav — away  with  the 
storm,  landmarks  obliterated,  lights  gone ;  away 
153 


A  Man's  Woman 

with  the  storm ;  out  into  the  darkness,  out  into  the 
void,  out  into  the  waste  places  and  wilderness  and 
trackless  desolation. 

"  Hurry,  oh,  hurry !  " 

It  was  too  late.  She  had  failed ;  the  mistake  had 
been  made,  the  question  had  been  decided.  That 
insensate,  bestial  determination,  iron-hearted,  iron- 
strong1,  had  beaten  down  opposition,  had  carried  its 
point.  Life  and  love  had  been  crushed  beneath 
its  trampling  without  pity,  without  hesitation.  The 
tragedy  of  the  hour  was  done ;  the  tragedy  of  the 
long  years  to  come  was  just  beginning. 

Lloyd  sank  down  in  the  chair  before  the  table, 
and  the  head  that  she  had  held  so  high  bowed  down 
upon  her  folded  arms.  The  violence  of  her  grief 
shook  her  from  head  to  foot  like  a  dry,  light  reed. 
Her  heart  seemed  literally  to  be  breaking.  She 
must  set  her  teeth  with  all  her  strength  to  keep  from 
groaning  aloud,  from  crying  out  in  her  hopeless 
sorrow  her  impotent  shame  and  despair. 

Once  more  came  the  cry  for  help.  Then  the 
house  fell  silent.  The  minutes  passed.  But  for 
Lloyd's  stifled  grief  there  was  no  sound.  Bennett — 
leaning  heavily  against  the  door,  his  great  shoulders 
stooping  and  bent,  his  face  ashen,  his  eyes  fixed — 
did  not  move.  He  did  not  speak  to  Lloyd.  There 
was  no  word  of  comfort  he  could  address  to  her — 
that  would  have  seemed  the  last  mockery.  He  had 
prevailed,  as  he  knew  he  should,  as  he  knew  he 
must,  when  once  his  resolve  was  taken.  The  force 
that,  once  it  was  unleashed,  was  beyond  him  to  con- 
trol, had  accomplished  its  purpose.  His  will  re- 
mained unbroken;  but  at  what  cost?  However, 
154 


A  Man's  Woman 

that  was  for  future  consideration.  The  costs?  Had 
he  not  his  whole  life  before  him  in  which  to  count 
them?  The  present  moment  still  called  upon  him 
to  act.  He  looked  at  his  watch. 

The  next  quarter  of  an  hour  was  all  a  confusion 
to  him.  Its  incidents  refused  to  define  themselves 
upon  his  memory  when  afterward  he  tried  to  recall 
them.  He  could  remember,  however,  that  when 
he  helped  Lloyd  into  the  carryall  that  was  to  take 
her  to  the  depot  in  the  village  she  had  shrunk  from 
his  touch  and  had  drawn  away  from  him  as  if  from 
a  criminal — a  murderer.  He  placed  her  satchel  on 
the  front  seat  with  the  driver,  and  got  up  beside  the 
driver  himself.  She  had  drawn  her  veil  over  her 
face,  and  during  the  drive  sat  silent  and  motionless. 

"  Can  you  make  it  ?  "  asked  Bennett  of  the  driver, 
watch  in  hand.  The  time  was  of  the  shortest,  but 
the  driver  put  the  whip  to  his  horses  and,  at  a  run, 
they  reached  the  railway  station  a  few  moments 
ahead  of  time.  Bennett  told  the  driver  to  wait,  and 
while  Lloyd  remained  in  her  place  he  bought  her 
ticket  for  the  City.  Then  he  went  to  the  telegraph 
office  and  sent  a  peremptory  despatch  to  the  house 
on  Calumet  Square. 

A  few  moments  later  the  train  had  come  and  gone, 
an  abrupt  eruption  of  roaring  iron  and  shrieking 
steam.  Bennett  was  left  on  the  platform  alone, 
watching  it  lessen  to  a  smoky  blur  where  the  rails 
converged  toward  the  horizon.  For  an  instant  he 
stood  watching,  watching  a  resistless,  iron-hearted 
force  whirling  her  away,  out  of  his  reach,  out  of 
his  life.  Then  he  shook  himself,  turning  sharply 
about 

'55 


A  Man's  Woman 

"  Back  to  the  doctor's  house,  now,"  he  com- 
manded the  driver ;  "  on  the  run,  you  understand." 

But  the  other  protested.  His  horses  were  all  but 
exhausted.  Twice  they  had  covered  that  distance 
at  top  speed  and  under  the  whip.  He  refused  to 
return.  Bennett  took  the  young  man  by  the  arm 
and  lifted  him  from  his  seat  to  the  ground.  Then 
he  sprang  to  his  place  and  lashed  the  horses  to  a 
gallop. 

When  he  arrived  at  Dr.  Pitts's  house  he  did  not 
stop  to  tie  the  horses,  but  threw  the  reins  over  their 
backs  and  entered  the  front  hall,  out  of  breath  and 
panting.  But  the  doctor,  during  Bennett's  absence, 
had  returned,  and  it  was  he  who  met  him  half-way 
up  the  stairs. 

"  How  is  he  ?  "  demanded  Bennett.  "  I  have  sent 
for  another  nurse ;  she  will  be  out  here  on  the  next 
train.  I  wired  from  the  station." 

"  The  only  objection  to  that,"  answered  the  doc- 
tor, looking  fixedlv  at  him,  "  is  that  it  is  not  neces- 
sary. Mr.  Ferriss  has  just  died." 


156 


VII. 

Throughout  her  ride  from  Medford  to  the  City 
it  was  impossible  for  Lloyd,  so  great  was  the  con- 
fusion in  her  mind,  to  think  connectedly.  She  had 
been  so  fiercely  shocked,  so  violently  shattered  and 
weakened,  that  for  a  time  she  lacked  the  power  and 
even  the  desire  to  collect  and  to  concentrate  her 
scattering  thoughts.  For  the  time  being  she  felt, 
but  only  dimly,  that  a  great  blow  had  fallen,  that  a 
great  calamity  had  overwhelmed  her,  but  so  ex- 
traordinary was  the  condition  of  her  mind  that  more 
than  once  she  found  herself  calmly  awaiting  the  in- 
evitable moment  when  the  full  extent  of  the  catas- 
trophe would  burst  upon  her.  For  the  moment 
she  was  merely  tired.  She  was  willing  even  to  put 
off  this  reaction  for  a  while,  willing  to  remain 
passive  and  dizzied  and  stupefied,  resigning  herself 
helplessly  and  supinely  to  the  swift  current  of  events. 

Yet  while  that  part  of  her  mind  which  registered 
the  greater,  deeper,  and  more  lasting  impressions 
remained  inactive,  the  smaller  faculty,  that  took 
cognisance  of  the  little,  minute-to-minute  matters, 
was  as  busy  and  bright  as  ever.  It  appeared  that  the 
blow  had  been  struck  over  this  latter  faculty,  and 
not,  as  one  so  often  supposes,  through  it.  She 
seemed  in  that  hour  to  understand  the  reasonable- 
ness of  this  phenomenon,  that  before  had  always 
appeared  so  inexplicable,  and  saw  how  great  sor- 
J57 


A  Man's  Woman 

row  as  well  as  great  joy  strikes  only  at  the  greater 
machinery  of  the  brain,  overpassing  and  ignoring 
the  little  wheels  and  cogs,  that  work  on  as  briskly 
as  ever  in  storm  or  calm,  being  moved  only  by  tem- 
porary and  trivial  emotions  and  impressions. 

So  it  was  that  for  upward  of  an  hour  while  the 
train  carried  her  swiftly  back  to  the  City,  Lloyd  sat 
quietly  in  her  place,  watching  the  landscape  rushing 
past  her  and  cut  into  regular  divisions  by  the  tele- 
graph poles  like  the  whirling  pictures  of  a  kineto- 
scope.  She  noted,  and  even  with  some  particularity, 
the  other  passengers — a  young  girl  in  a  smart 
tailor-made  gown  reading  a  book,  cutting  the  leaves 
raggedly  with  a  hairpin ;  a  well-groomed  gentleman 
with  a  large  stomach,  who  breathed,  loudly  through 
his  nose ;  the  book  agent  with  his  oval  boxes  of  dried 
figs  and  endless  thread  of  talk ;  a  woman  with  a  little 
boy  who  wore  spectacles  and  who  was  continually 
making  unsteady  raids  upon  the  water-cooler,  and 
the  brakeman  and  train  conductor  laughing  and 
chatting  in  the  forward  seat. 

She  took  an  interest  in  every  unusual  feature  of 
the  country  through  which  the  train  was  speeding, 
and  noted  each  stop  or  increase  of  speed.  She  found 
a  certain  diversion,  as  she  had  often  done  before, 
in  watching  for  the  mile-posts  and  in  keeping  count 
of  the  miles.  She  even  asked  the  conductor  at  what 
time  the  train  would  reach  the  City,  and  uttered  a  lit- 
tle murmur  of  vexation  when  she  was  told  that  it  was 
a  half-hour  late.  The  next  instant  she  was  asking 
herself  why  this  delay  should  seem  annoying  to  her. 
Then,  toward  the  close  of  the  afternoon,  came  the 
City  itself.  First  a  dull-gray  smudge  on  the  horizon, 
158 


A  Man's  Woman 

then  a  world  of  grimy  streets,  rows  of  miserable 
tenements  festooned  with  rags,  then  a  tunnel  or  two, 
and  at  length  the  echoing  glass-arched  terminal  of 
the  station.  Lloyd  alighted,  and,  remembering  that 
the  distance  was  short,  walked  steadily  toward  her 
destination  till  the  streets  and  neighbourhood  be- 
came familiar.  Suddenly  she  came  into  the  square. 
Directly  opposite  was  the  massive  granite  front  of 
the  agency.  She  paused  abruptly.  She  was  returning 
to  the  house  after  abandoning  her  post.  What  was 
she  to  say  to  them,  the  other  women  of  her  profes- 
sion? 

Then  all  at  once  came  the  reaction.  Instantly 
the  larger  machinery  of  the  mind  resumed  its  func- 
tions, the  hurt  of  the  blow  came  back.  With  a  fierce 
wrench  of  pain,  the  wound  reopened,  full  conscious- 
ness returned.  Lloyd  remembered  then  that  she 
had  proved  false  to  her  trust  at  a  moment  of  danger, 
that  Ferriss  would  probably  die  because  of  what  she 
had  done,  that  her  strength  of  will  and  of  mind 
wherein  she  had  gloried  was  broken  beyond  re- 
demption ;  that  Bennett  had  failed  her,  that  her  love 
for  him,  the  one  great  happiness  of  her  life,  was  dead 
and  cold  and  could  never  be  revived,  and  that  in 
the  eyes  of  the  world  she  stood  dishonoured  and  dis- 
graced. 

Now  she  must  enter  that  house,  now  she  must 
face  its  inmates,  her  companions.  What  to  say 
to  them?  How  explain  her  defection?  How  tell 
them  that  she  had  not  left  her  post  of  her  own  will  ? 
Lloyd  fancied  herself  saying  in  substance  that  the 
man  who  loved  her  and  whom  she  loved  had  mac^e 
her  abandon  her  patient.  She  set  her  teeth.  No, 
159 


A  Man's  Woman 

not  that  confession  of  miserable  weakness ;  not  that 
of  all  things.  And  yet  the  other  alternative,  what 
was  that?  It  could  be  only  that  she  had  been 
afraid — she,  Lloyd  Searight !  Must  she,  who  had 
been  the  bravest  of  them  all,  stand  before  that  little 
band  of  devoted  women  in  the  light  of  a  self-con- 
fessed coward? 

She  remembered  the  case  of  the  young  English 
woman,  Harriet  Freeze,  who,  when  called  upon  to 
nurse  a  smallpox  patient,  had  been  found  wanting 
in  courage  at  the  crucial  moment,  and  had  discov- 
ered an  excuse  for  leaving  her  post.  Miss  Freeze 
had  been  expelled  dishonourably  from  the  midst  of 
her  companions.  And  now  she,  Lloyd,  standing 
apparently  convicted  of  the  same  dishonour,  must 
face  the  same  tribunal.  There  was  no  escape.  She 
must  enter  that  house,  she  must  endure  that  ordeal, 
and  this  at  precisely  the  time  when  her  resolution 
had  been  shattered,  her  will  broken,  her  courage 
daunted.  For  a  moment  the  idea  of  flight  sug- 
gested itself  to  her — she  would  avoid  the  issue.  She 
would  hide  from  reproach  and  contumely,  and  with- 
out further  explanation  go  back  to  her  place  in  the 
country  at  Bannister.  But  the  little  exigencies  of 
her  position  made  this  impossible.  Besides  her 
nurse's  bag,  her  satchel  was  the  only  baggage  she 
had  at  that  moment,  and  she  knew  that  there  was 
but  little  money  in  her  purse. 

All  at  once  she  realised  that  while  debating  the 
question  she  had  been  sitting  on  one  of  the  benches 
under  the  trees  in  the  square.  The  sun  was  setting ; 
evening  was  coming  on.  Maybe  if  she  wai^d  until 
six  o'clock  she  could  enter  the  house  while  the  other 
160 


A  Man's  Woman 

nurses  were  at  supper,  gain  her  room  unobserved, 
then  lock  herself  in  and  deny  herself  to  all  callers. 
But  Lloyd  made  a  weary,  resigned  movement  of  her 
shoulders.  Sooner  or  later  she  must  meet  them  all 
eye  to  eye.  It  would  be  only  putting  off  the  humilia- 
tion. 

She  rose,  and,  turning  to  the  house,  began  to 
walk  slowly  toward  it.  Why  put  it  off?  It  would 
be  as  hard  at  one  time  as  another.  But  so  great 
was  her  sense  of  shame  that  even  as  she  walked  she 
fancied  that  the  very  passers-by,  the  loungers  on  the 
benches  around  the  fountain,  must  know  that  here 
was  a  disgraced  woman.  Was  it  not  apparent  in 
her  very  face,  in  the  very  uncertainty  of  her  gait? 
She  told  herself  she  had  not  done  wisely  to  sit  even 
for  a  moment  upon  the  bench  she  had  just  quitted. 
She  wondered  if  she  had  been  observed,  and  fur- 
tively glanced  about  her.  There !  Was  not  that 
nursemaid  studying  her  too  narrowly?  And  the 
policeman  close  at  hand,  was  he  not  watching  her 
quizzically?  She  quickened  her  gait,  moved  with 
a  sudden  impulse  to  get  out  of  sight,  to  hide  within 
doors — where?  In  the  house?  There  where,  so 
soon  as  she  set  foot  in  it,  her  companions,  the  other 
nurses,  must  know  her  dishonour?  Where  was  she 
to  go?  Where  to  turn?  What  was  to  become  of 
her? 

But  she  must  go  to  the  house.  It  was  inevitable. 
She  went  forward,  as  it  were,  step  by  step.  That 
little  journey  across  the  square  under  the  elms  and 
cottonwoods  was  for  her  a  veritable  chemin  de  la 
croi.r:  Every  step  was  an  a9T>nv;  every  vard  cov- 
ered only  brought  her  nearer  the  time  and  place  of 
II  161 


A  Man's  Woman 

exposure.  It  was  all  the  more  humiliating  because 
she  knew  that  her  impelling  motive  was  not  one  of 
duty.  There  was  nothing  lofty  in  the  matter — 
nothing  self-sacrificing.  She  went  back  because 
she  had  to  go  back.  Little  material  necessities,  al- 
most ludicrous  in  their  pettiness,  forced  her  on. 

As  she  came  nearer  she  looked  cautiously  at  the 
windows  of  the  agency.  Who  would  be  the  first  to 
note  her  home-coming?  Would  it  be  Miss  Douglass, 
or  Esther  Thielman,  or  Miss  Bergyn,  the  superin- 
tendent nurse?  What  would  first  be  said  to  her? 
With  what  words  would  she  respond?  Then  how 
the  news  of  the  betrayal  of  her  trust  would  flash 
from  room  to  room !  How  it  would  be  discussed, 
how  condemned,  how  deplored !  Not  one  of  the 
nurses  of  that  little  band  but  would  not  feel  herself 
hurt  by  what  she  had  done — by  what  she  had  been 
forced  to  do.  And  the  news  of  her  failure  would 
spread  to  all  her  acquaintances  and  friends  through- 
out the  City.  Dr.  Street  would  know  it ;  every  phy- 
sician to  whom  she  had  hitherto  been  so  welcome  an 
aid  would  know  it.  In  all  the  hospitals  it  would  be 
a  nine  days'  gossip.  Campbell  would  hear  of  it, 
and  Hattie. 

All  at  once,  within  thirty  feet  of  the  house,  Lloyd 
turned  about  and  walked  rapidly  away  from  it.  The 
movement  was  all  but  involuntary;  every  instinct  in 
her,  every  sense  of  shame,  brusquely  revolted.  It 
was  stronger  than  she.  A  power,  for  the  moment 
irresistible,  dragged  her  back  from  that  doorway. 
Once  entering  here,  she  left  all  hope  behind.  Yet 
the  threshold  must  be  crossed,  yet  the  hope  must 
be  abandoned. 

163 


A  Man's  Woman 

She  felt  that  if  she  faced  about  now  a  second  time 
she  would  indeed  attract  attention.  So,  while  her 
cheeks  flamed  hot  at  the  meanness,  the  miserable 
ridiculousness  of  the  imposture,  she  assumed  a 
brisk,  determined  gait,  as  though  she  knew  just 
where  she  were  going,  and,  turning  out  of  the 
square  down  a  by-street,  walked  around  the  block, 
even  stopping  once  or  twice  before  a  store,  pretend- 
ing an  interest  in  the  display.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
by  no.w  everybody  in  the  streets  must  have  noted 
that  there  was  something  wrong  with  her.  Twice 
as  a  passer-by  brushed  past  her  she  looked  back 
to  see  if  he  was  watching  her.  How  to  live  through 
the  next  ten  minutes  ?  If  she  were  only  in  her  room, 
bolted  in,  locked  and  double-locked  in.  Why  was 
there  not  some  back  way  through  which  she  could 
creep  to  that  seclusion? 

And  so  it  was  that  Lloyd  came  back  to  the  house 
she  had  built,  to  the  little  community  she  had  so 
proudly  organised,  to  the  agency  she  had  founded, 
and  with  her  own  money  endowed  and  supported. 

At  last  she  found  herself  at  the  bottom  of  the 
steps,  her  foot  upon  the  lowest  one,  her  hand  clasp- 
ing the  heavy  bronze  rail.  There  was  no  going 
back  now.  She  went  up  and  pushed  the  button  of 
the  electric  bell,  and  then,  the  step  once  taken,  the 
irrevocable  once  dared,  something  like  the  calmness 
of  resignation  came  to  her.  There  was  no  help  for 
it.  Now  for  the  ordeal.  Rownie  opened  the  door 
for  her  with  a  cheery  welcome.  Lloyd  was  dimly 
conscious  that  the  girl  said  something-  about  her 
mail,  and  that  she  was  just  in  time  for  supper.  But 
the  hall  and  stairway  were  deserted  and  empty,  while 


A  Man's  Woman 

from  the  dining-room  came  a  subdued  murmur  of 
conversation  and  the  clink  of  dishes.  The  nurses 
were  at  supper,  as  Lloyd  had  hoped.  The  moment 
favoured  her,  and  she  brushed  by  Rownie,  and  al- 
most ran,  panic-stricken  and  trembling1,  up  the 
stairs. 

She  gained  the  hall  of  the  second  floor.  There 
was  the  door  of  her  room  standing  ajar.  With  a 
little  gasp  of  infinite  relief,  she  hurried  to  it,  entered, 
shut  and  locked  and  bolted  it  behind  her,  and,,  cast- 
ing her  satchel  and  handbag  from  her,  flung  herself 
down  upon  the  great  couch,  and  buried  her  head 
deep  among  the  cushions. 

At  Lloyd's  abrupt  entrance  Miss  Douglass  turned 
about  from  the  book-shelves  in  an  angle  of  the  room 
and  stared  a  moment  in  no  little  surprise.  Then  she 
exclaimed : 

"  Why,  Lloyd,  why,  what  is  it — what  is  the 
matter?  " 

Lloyd  sprang  up  sharply  at  the  sound  of  her  voice, 
and  then  sank  down  to  a  sitting  posture  upon  the 
edge  of  the  couch.  Quietly  enough  she  said  : 

"  Oh,  is  it  you?  I  didn't  know — expect  to  find 
any  one " 

"  You  don't  mind,  do  you?  I  just  ran  in  to  get 
a  book — something  to  read.  I've  had  a  headache 
all  day,  and  didn't  go  down  to  supper." 

Lloyd  nodded.  "  Of  course — I  don't  mind,"  she 
said,  a  little  wearily. 

"  But  tell  me,"  continued  the  fever  nurse,  "  what- 
ever is  the  matter?  When  you  came  in  just  now — 
I  never  saw  you  so — oh,  I  understand,  your  case  at 

Medford -" 

164 


A  Man's  Woman 

Lloyd's  hands  closed  tight  upon  the  edge  of  the 
couch. 

"  No  one  could  have  got  a  patient  through  when 
the  fever  had  got  as  far  as  that,"  continued  the 
other.  "  This  must  have  been  the  fifth  or  sixth 
week.  The  second  telegram  came  just  in  time  to 
prevent  my  going.  I  was  just  going  out  of  the 
door  when  the  boy  came  with  it." 

"  You  ?     What  telegram  ?  "  inquired  Lloyd. 

"  Yes,  I  was  on  call.  The  first  despatch  asking 
for  another  extra  nurse  came  about  two  o'clock. 
The  four-twenty  was  the  first  train  I  could  have 
taken — the  two-forty-five  express  is  a  through  train 
and  don't  stop  at  Medford — and,  as  I  say,  I  was  just 
going  out  of  the  door  when  Dr.  Pitts's  second  de- 
spatch came,  countermanding  the  first,  and  telling 
us  that  the  patient  had  died.  It  seems  that  it  was 
one  of  the  officers  of  the  Freja  expedition.  We 
didn't  know " 

"  Died  ?  "  interrupted  Lloyd,  looking  fixedly  at 
her. 

"  But  Lloyd,  you  mustn't  take  it  so  to  heart. 
You  couldn't  have  got  him  through.  No  one  could 
at  that  time.  He  was  probably  dying  when  you 
were  sent  for.  We  must  all  lose  a  case  now  and 
then." 

"  Died  ?  "  repeated  Lloyd ;  "  Dr.  Pitts  wired  that 
Mr.  Ferriss  died  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  it  was  to  prevent  my  coming  out  there 
uselessly.  He  must  have  sent  the  wire  quite  an  hour 
before  you  left.  It  was  verv  thoughtful  of  him." 

"  He's  dead,"  said  Lloyd  in  a  low,  expressionless 
voice,  looking  vacantly  about  the  room.  "  Mr. 
165 


A  Man's  Woman 

Ferriss  is  dead."  Then  suddenly  she  put  a  fist  to 
either  temple,  horror-struck  and  for  the  moment 
shaken  with  hysteria  from  head  to  foot,  her  eyes 
widening  with  an  expression  almost  of  terror. 
"  Dead !  "  she  cried.  "  Oh,  it's  horrible !  Why 
didn't  I — why  couldn't  I " 

"  I  know  just  how  you  feel,"  answered  Miss 
Douglass  soothingly.  "  I  am  that  way  myself  some- 
times.' It's  not  professional,  I  know,  but  when  you 
have  been  successful  in  two  or  three  bad  cases  you 
think  you  can  always  win ;  and  then  when  you  lose 
the  next  case  you  believe  that  somehow  it  must 
have  been  your  fault — that  if  you  had  been  a  little 
more  careful  at  just  that  moment,  or  done  a  little 
different  in  that  particular  point,  you  might  have 
saved  your  patient.  But  you,  of  all  people,  ought 
not  to  feel  like  that.  If  you  could  not  have  saved 
your  case  nobody  could." 

"  It  was  just  because  I  had  the  case  that  it  was 
lost." 

"  Nonsense,  Lloyd ;  don't  talk  like  that.  You've 
not  had  enough  sleep ;  your  nerves  have  been  over- 
strained. You're  worn  out  and  a  little  hysterical 
and  morbid.  Now  lie  down  and  keep  quiet,  and  I'll 
bring  you  your  supper.  You  need  a  good  night's 
sleep  and  bromide  of  potassium." 

When  she  had  gone  Lloyd  rose  to  her  feet  and 
drew  her  hand  wearily  across  her  eyes.  The  situ- 
ation adjusted  itself  in  her  mind.  After  the  first 
recoil  of  horror  at  Ferriss's  death  she  was  able  to 
see  the  false  position  in  which  she  stood.  She  had 
been  so  certain  already  that  Ferriss  would  die,  leav- 
ing him  as  she  did  at  so  critical  a  moment,  that  now 
166 


A  Man's  Woman 

the  sharpness  of  Miss  Douglass's  news  was  blunted 
a  little.  She  had  only  been  unprepared  for  the  sud- 
denness of  the  shock.  But  now  she  understood 
clearly  how  Miss  Douglass  had  been  deceived  by 
circumstances.  The  fever  nurse  had  heard  of  Fer- 
riss's  death  early  in  the  afternoon,  and  supposed,  of 
course,  that  Lloyd  had  left  the  case  after,  and  not 
before,  it  had  occurred.  This  was  the  story  the 
other  nurses  would  believe.  Instantly,  in  the  flood 
of  grief  and  remorse  and  humiliation  that  had  over- 
whelmed her,  Lloyd  caught  at  this  straw  of  hope. 
Only  Dr.  Pitts  and  Bennett  knew  the  real  facts. 
Bennett,  of  course,  would  not  speak,  and  Lloyd 
knew  that  the  physician  would  understand  the 
cruelty  and  injustice  of  her  situation,  and  because 
of  that  would  also  keep  silence.  To  make  sure  of 
this  she  could  write  him  a  letter,  or,  better  still,  see 
him  personally.  It  would  be  hard  to  tell  him  the 
truth.  But  that  was  nothing  when  compared  with 
the  world's  denunciation  of  her. 

If  she  had  really  been  false  to  her  charge,  if  she 
had  actually  flinched  and  faltered  at  the  crucial  mo- 
ment, had  truly  been  the  coward,  this  deception 
which  had  been  thrust  upon  her  at  the  moment  of 
her  return  to  the  house,  this  part  which  it  was  so  easy 
to  play,  would  have  been  a  hideous  and  unspeakable 
hypocrisy.  But  Lloyd  had  not  faltered,  had  not 
been  false.  In  her  heart  of  hearts  she  had  been  true 
to  herself  and  to  her  trust.  How  would  she  deceive 
her  companions  then  by  allowing  them  to  continue 
in  the  belief  of  her  constancy,  fidelity,  and  courage? 
What  she  hid  from  them,  or  rather  what  they  could 
not  see,  was  a  state  of  things  that  it  was  impossible 
167 


A  Man's  Woman 

for  any  one  but  herself  to  understand.  She  could 
not — no  woman  could — bring  herself  to  confess  to 
another  woman  what  had  happened  that  day  at 
Medford.  It  would  be  believed  that  she  could  have 
stayed  at  her  patient's  bedside  if  she  had  so  desired. 
No  one  who  did  not  know  Bennett  could  under- 
stand the  terrible,  vast  force  of  the  man. 

Try  as  she  would,  Lloyd  could  not  but  think  first 
of  herself  at  this  moment.  Bennett  was  ignored, 
forgotten.  Once  she  had  loved  him,  but  that  was 
all  over  now.  The  thought  of  Ferriss's  death,  for 
which  in  a  manner  she  had  been  forced  to  be 
responsible,  came  rushing  to  her  mind  from  time  to 
time,  and  filled  her  with  a  horror  and,  at  times,  even 
a  perverse  sense  of  remorse,  almost  beyond  words. 
But  Lloyd's  pride,  her  self-confidence,  her  strength 
of  character  and  independence  had  been  dearer  to 
her  than  almost  anything  in  life.  So  she  told  her- 
self, and,  at  that  moment,  honestly  believed.  And 
though  she  knew  that  her  pride  had  been  humbled, 
it  was  not  gone,  and  enough  of  it  remained  to  make 
her  desire  and  strive  to  keep  the  fact  a  secret  from 
the  world.  It  seemed  very  easy.  She  would  only 
have  to  remain  passive.  Circumstances  acted  for 
her. 

Miss  Douglass  returned,  followed  by  Rownie 
carrying  a  tray.  When  the  mulatto  had  gone,  after 
arranging  Lloyd's  supper  on  a  little  table  near  the 
couch,  the  fever  nurse  drew  up  a  chair. 

"  Now  we  can  talk,"  she  said,  "  unless  you  are  too 
tired.  I've  been  so  interested  in  this  case  at  Med- 
ford. Tell  me  what  was  the  immediate  cause  of 
death;  was  it  perforation  or  just  gradual  collapse?  " 
168 


A  Man's  Woman 

"  It  was  neither,"  said  Lloyd  quickly.  "  It  was  a 
haemorrhage." 

She  had  uttered  the  words  with  as  little  conscious- 
ness as  a  phonograph,  and  the  lie  had  escaped  her 
before  she  was  aware.  How  did  she  know  what 
had  been  the  immediate  cause  of  death?  What 
right  had  she  to  speak  ?  Why  was  it  that  all  at  once 
a  falsehood  had  come  so  easy  to  her,  to  her  whose 
whole  life  until  then  had  been  so  sincere,  so  genuine? 

"  A  haemorrhage  ?  "  repeated  the  other.  "  Had 
there  been  many  before  then?  Was  there  coma 
vigil  when  the  end  came?  I " 

"  Oh,"  cried  Lloyd  with  a  quick  gesture  of  im- 
patience, "  don't,  don't  ask  me  any  more.  I  am 
tired — nervous ;  I  am  worn  out." 

"  Yes,  of  course  you  must  be,"  answered  the  fever 
nurse.  "  We  won't  talk  any  more  about  it." 

That  night  and  the  following  day  were  terrible. 
Lloyd  neither  ate  nor  slept.  Not  once  did  she  set 
foot  out  of  her  room,  giving  out  that  she  was  ill, 
which  was  not  far  from  the  truth,  and  keeping  to 
herself  and  to  the  companionship  of  the  thoughts 
and  terrors  that  crowded  her  mind.  Until  that  day 
at  Medford  her  life  had  run  easily  and  happily  and 
in  well-ordered  channels.  She  was  successful  in 
her  chosen  profession  and  work.  She  imagined 
herself  to  be  stronger  and  of  finer  fibre  than  most 
other  women,  and  her  love  for  Bennett  had  lent  a 
happiness  and  a  sweetness  to  her  life  dear  to  her  be- 
yond all  words.  Suddenly,  and  within  an  hour's 
time,  she  had  lost  everything.  Her  will  had  been 
broken,  her  spirit  crushed ;  she  had  been  forced  to 
become  fearfully  instrumental  in  causing  the  death 
169 


A  Man's  Woman 

of  her  patient — a  man  who  loved  and  trusted  her — 
while  her  love  for  Bennett,  which  for  years  had  been 
her  deep  and  abiding  joy,  the  one  great  influence 
of  her  life,  was  cold  and  dead,  and  could  never  be 
revived. 

This  in  the  end  came  to  be  Lloyd's  greatest  grief. 
She  could  forget  that  she  herself  had  been  humbled 
and  broken.  Horrible,  unspeakably  horrible,  as 
Ferriss's  death  seemed  to  her,  it  was  upon  Bennett, 
and  not  upon  her,  that  its  responsibility  must  be  laid. 
She  had  done  what  she  could.  Of  that  she  was  as- 
sured. But,  first  and  above  all  things,  Lloyd  was  a 
woman,  and  her  love  for  Bennett  was  a  very  differ- 
ent matter. 

When,  during  that  never-to-be-forgotten  scene 
in  the  breakfast-room  of  the  doctor's  house,  she  had 
warned  Bennett  that  if  he  persisted  in  his  insane 
resolution  he  would  stamp  out  her  affection  for  him, 
Lloyd  had  only  half  believed  what  she  said.  But 
when  at  last  it  dawned  upon  her  that  she  had 
spoken  wiser  than  she  knew,  that  this  was  actually 
true,  and  that  now,  no  matter  how  she  might  desire 
it,  she  could  not  love  him  any  longer,  it  seemed  as 
though  her  heart  must  break.  It  was  precisely  as 
though  Bennett  himself,  the  Bennett  she  had 
known,  had  been  blotted  out  of  existence.  It  was 
much  worse  than  if  Bennett  had  merely  died.  Even 
then  he  would  have  still  existed  for  her,  somewhere. 
As  it  was,  the  man  she  had  known  simply  ceased  to 
be,  irrevocably,  finally,  and  the  warmth  of  her  love 
dwindled  and  grew  cold,  because  now  there  was 
nothing  left  for  it  to  feed  upon. 

Never  until  then  had  Lloyd  realised  how  much 
170 


A  Man's  Woman 

he  had  been  to  her ;  how  he  had  not  only  played  so 
large  a  part  in  her  life,  but  how  he  had  become  a 
very  part  of  her  life  itself.  Her  love  for  him  had 
been  like  the  air,  like  the  sunlight;  was  delicately 
knitted  and  intertwined  into  all  the  innumerable 
intricacies  of  her  life  and  character.  Literally,  not 
an  hour  had  ever  passed  that,  directly  or  indirectly, 
he  had  not  occupied  her  thoughts.  He  had  been 
her  inspiration ;  he  had  made  her  want  to  be  brave 
and  strong  and  determined,  and  it  was  because  of 
him  that  the  greater  things  of  the  world  interested 
her.  She  had  chosen  a  work  to  be  done  because 
he  had  set  her  an  example.  So  only  that  she  pre- 
served her  womanliness,  she,  too,  wanted  to  count, 
to  help  on,  to  have  her  place  in  the  world's  progress. 
In  reality  all  her  ambitions  and  hopes  had  been 
looking  toward  one  end  only,  that  she  might  be 
his  equal ;  that  he  might  find  in  her  a  companion 
and  a  confidante ;  one  who  could  share  his  enthu- 
siasms and  understand  his  vast  projects  and  great 
aims. 

And  how  had  he  treated  her  when  at  last  oppor- 
tunity had  been  given  her  to  play  her  part,  to  be 
courageous  and  strong,  to  prevail  against  great 
odds,  while  he  stood  by  to  see?  He  had  ignored 
and  misunderstood,  and  tossed  aside  as  childish  and 
absurd  that  which  she  had  been  building  up  for 
years.  Instead  of  appreciating  her  heroism  he  had 
forced  her  to  become  a  coward  in  the  eyes  of  the 
world.  She  had  hoped  to  be  his  equal,  and  he  had 
treated  her  as  a  school-girl.  It  had  all  been  a  mis- 
take. She  was  not  and  could  not  be  the  woman 
she  had  hoped.  He  was  not  and  never  had  been 
171 


A  Man's  Woman 

the  man  she  had  imagined.  They  had  nothing  in 
common. 

But  it  was  not  easy  to  give  Bennett  up,  to  let  him 
pass  out  of  her  life.  She  wanted  to  love  him  yet. 
With  all  her  heart  and  strength,  in  spite  of  every- 
thing— woman  that  she  was,  she  had  come  to  that — 
in  spite  of  everything  she  wanted  to  love  him. 
Though  he  had  broken  her  will,  thwarted  her  ambi- 
tions, ignored  her  cherished  hopes,  misunderstood 
and  mistaken  her,  yet,  if  she  could,  Lloyd  would  yet 
have  loved  him,  loved  him  even  for  the  very  fact 
that  he  had  been  stronger  than  she. 

Again  and  again  she  tried  to  awaken  this  dead 
affection,  to  call  back  this  vanished  love.  She  tried 
to  remember  the  Bennett  she  had  known ;  she  told 
herself  that  he  loved  her;  that  he  had  said  that  the 
great  things  he  had  done  had  been  done  only  with 
an  eye  to  her  approval ;  that  she  had  been  his  in- 
spiration no  less  than  he  had  been  hers ;  that  he  had 
fought  his  way  back,  not  only  to  life,  but  to  her. 
She  thought  of  all  he  had  suffered,  of  the  hardships 
and  privations  beyond  her  imagination  to  conceive, 
that  he  had  undergone.  She  tried  to  recall  the 
infinite  joy  of  that  night  when  the  news  of  his  safe 
return  had  come  to  her;  she  thought  of  him  at  his 
very  best — how  he  had  always  seemed  to  her  the  type 
of  the  perfect  man,  masterful,  aggressive,  accom- 
plishing great  projects  with  an  energy  and  deter- 
mination almost  superhuman,  one  of  the  world's 
great  men,  whose  name  the  world  still  shouted.  She 
called  to  mind  how  the  very  ruggedness  of  his  face, 
with  its  massive  lines  and  harsh  angles,  had  at- 
tracted her ;  how  she  had  been  proud  of  his  giant's 
172 


A  Man's  Woman 

strength,  the  vast  span  of  his  shoulders,  the  bull- 
like  depth  of  his  chest,  the  sense  of  enormous  physi- 
cal power  suggested  by  his  every  movement. 

But  it  was  all  of  no  effect.  That  Bennett  wat 
worse  than  dead  to  her.  The  Bennett  that  now 
came  to  her  mind  and  imagination  was  the  brutal, 
perverse  man  of  the  breakfast-room  at  Medford, 
coarse,  insolent,  intractable,  stamping  out  all  that 
was  finest  in  her,  breaking  and  flinging  away  the 
very  gifts  he  had  inspired  her  to  offer  him.  It  was 
nothing  to  him  that  she  should  stand  degraded  in 
the  eyes  of  the  world.  He  did  not  want  her  to  be 
brave  and  strong.  She  had  been  wrong ;  it  was  not 
that  kind  of  woman  he  desired.  He  had  not  ac- 
knowledged that  she,  too,  as  well  as  he — a  woman 
as  well  as  a  man  might  have  her  principles,  her 
standards  of  honour,  her  ideas  of  duty.  It  was  not 
her  character,  then,  that  he  prized ;  the?  nobility  of  her 
nature  was  nothing  to  him ;  he  took  no  thought  of 
the  fine-wrought  texture  of  her  mind.  How,  then, 
did  she  appeal  to  him  ?  It  was  not  her  mind ;  it 
was  not  her  soul.  What,  then,  was  left?  Nothing 
but  the  physical.  The  shame  of  it ;  the  degradation 
of  it !  To  be  so  cruelly  mistaken  in  the  man  she 
loved,  to  be  able  to  appeal  to  him  only  on  his  lower 
side !  Lloyd  clasped  her  hands  over  her  eyes,  shut- 
ting her  teeth  hard  against  a  cry  of  grief  and  pain 
and  impotent  anger.  No,  no,  now  it  was  irrevoca- 
ble ;  now  her  eyes  were  opened.  The  Bennett  she 
had  known  and  loved  had  been  merely  a  creature 
of  her  own  imagining;  the  real  man  had  suddenly 
discovered  himself;  and  this  man,  in  spite  of  herself, 
she  hated  as  a  victim  hates  its  tyrant. 
173 


A  Man's  Woman 

But  her  grief  for  her  vanished  happiness — the  hap- 
piness that  this  love,  however  mistaken,  had  brought 
into  her  life — was  pitiful.  Lloyd  could  not  think  of 
it  without  the  choke  coming  to  her  throat  and  the 
tears  brimming  her  dull-blue  eyes,  while  at  times 
a  veritable  paroxysm  of  sorrow  seized  upon  her  and 
flung  her  at  full  length  upon  her  couch,  her  face 
buried  and  her  whole  body  shaken  with  stifled  sobs. 
It  was  gone,  it  was  gone,  and  could  never  be  called 
back.  What  was  there  now  left  to  her  to  live  for? 
Why  continue  her  profession?  Why  go  on  with 
the  work?  What  pleasure  now  in  striving  and 
overcoming?  Wrhere  now  was  the  exhilaration  of 
battle  with  the  Enemy,  even  supposing  she  yet  had 
the  strength  to  continue  the  fight  ?  Who  was  there 
now  to  please,  to  approve,  to  encourage  ?  To  what 
end  the  days  of  grave  responsibilities,  the  long,  still 
nights  of  vigil  ? 

She  began  to  doubt  herself.  Bennett,  the  man, 
had  loved  his  work  for  its  own  sake.  But  how  about 
herself,  the  woman?  In  what  spirit  had  she  gone 
about  her  work  ?  Had  she  been  genuine,  after  all  ? 
Had  she  not  undertaken  it  rather  as  a  means  than 
as  an  end — not  because  she  cared  for  it,  but  because 
she  thought  he  would  approve,  because  she  had 
hoped  by  means  of  the  work  she  would  come  into 
closer  companionship  with  him?  She  wondered  if 
this  must  always  be  so — the  man  loving  the  work 
for  the  work's  sake;  the  woman,  more  complex, 
weaker,  and  more  dependent,  doing  the  work  only 
in  reference  to  the  man. 

But  often  she  distrusted  her  own  conclusions,  and, 
no  doubt,  rightly  so.  Her  mind  was  yet  too  con- 


A  Man's  Woman 

fused  to  reason  calmly,  soberly,  and  accurately.  Her 
distress  was  yet  too  keen,  too  poignant  to  permit 
her  to  be  logical.  At  one  time  she  was  almost  ready 
to  admit  that  she  had  misjudged  Bennett;  that, 
though  he  had  acted  cruelly  and  unjustly,  he  had 
done  what  he  thought  was  best.  His  sacrifice  of 
Ferriss  was  sufficient  guarantee  of  his  sincerity. 
But  this  mistrust  of  herself  did  not  affect  her  feel- 
ing toward  him.  There  were  moments  when  she 
condoned  his  offence;  there  was  never  an  instant 
she  did  not  hate  him. 

And  this  sentiment  of  hatred  itself,  independent 
of  and  apart  from  its  object,  was  distasteful  and 
foreign  to  her.  Never  in  her  life  had  Lloyd  hated 
any  one  before.  To  be  kind,  to  be  gentle,  to  be 
womanly  was  her  second  nature,  and  kindness,  gen- 
tleness, and  womanliness  were  qualities  that  her 
profession  only  intensified  and  deepened.  This 
newcomer  in  her  heart,  this  fierce,  evil  visitor,  that 
goaded  her  and  pricked  and  harried  her  from  day 
to  d^v  and  throughout  so  many  waking  nights,  that 
roused  the  unwonted  flash  in  her  eye  and  drove  the 
hot,  angry  blood  to  her  smooth,  white  forehead  and 
knotted  her  levelled  brows  to  a  dark  and  lowering 
frown,  had  entered  her  life  and  being,  unsought 
for  and  undesired.  It  did  not  belong  to  her  world. 
Yet  there  it  sat  on  its  usurped  throne  deformed 
and  hideous,  driving  out  all  tenderness  and  com- 
punction, ruling  her  with  a  rod  of  iron,  hardening 
her,  embittering  her,  and  belittling  her,  making  a 
mockery  of  all  sweetness,  fleering  at  nobility  and 
magnanimity,  lowering  the  queen  to  the  level  of  the 
fishwife. 

J75 


A  Man's  Woman 

When  the  first  shock  of  the  catastrophe  had  spent 
its  strength  and  Lloyd  perforce  must  turn  again 
to  the  life  she  had  to  live,  groping  for  its  scattered, 
tangled  ends,  piecing  together  again  as  best  she 
might  its  broken  fragments,  she  set  herself  hon- 
estly to  drive  this  hatred  from  her  heart.  If  she 
could  not  love  Bennett,  at  least  she  need  not  hate 
him.  She  was  moved  to  this  by  no  feeling  of  con- 
cern for  Bennett.  It  was  not  a  consideration  that 
she  owed  to  him,  but  something  rather  that  was 
due  to  herself.  Yet,  try  as  she  would,  the  hatred 
still  remained.  She  could  not  put  it  from  her. 
Hurt  her  and  contaminate  her  as  it  did,  in  spite  of 
all  her  best  efforts,  in  spite  of  her  very  prayers,  the 
evil  thing  abode  with  her,  deep-rooted,  strong, 
malignant.  She  saw  that  in  the  end  she  would  con- 
tinue in  her  profession,  but  she  believed  that  she 
could  not  go  on  with  it  consistently,  based  as  it  was 
upon  sympathy  and  love  and  kindness,  while  a  firm- 
seated,  active  hatred  dwelt  with  her,  harassing  her 
at  every  moment,  and  perverting  each  good  impulse 
and  each  unselfish  desire.  It  was  an  ally  of  the  very 
Enemy  she  would  be  called  upon  to  fight,  a  traitor 
that  at  any  moment  might  open  the  gates  to  hia 
triumphant  entry. 

But  was  this  his  only  ally ;  was  this  the  only  false 
and  ugly  invader  that  had  taken  advantage  of  her 
shattered  defence  ?  Had  the  unwelcome  visitor  en- 
tered her  heart  alone  ?  Was  there  not  a  companion 
still  more  wicked,  more  perverted,  more  insidious, 
more  dangerous?  For  the  first  time  Lloyd  knew 
what  it  meant  to  deceive. 

It  was  supposed  by  her  companions,  and  accepted 
176 


A  Man's  Woman 

by  them  as  a  matter  of  course,  that  she  had  not  left 
the  bedside  of  her  patient  until  after  kis  death.  At 
first  she  had  joyfully  welcomed  this  mistake  as  her 
salvation,  the  one  happy  coincidence  that  was  to 
make  her  life  possible,  and  for  a  time  had  ceased  to 
think  about  it.  That  phase  of  the  incident  was 
closed.  Matters  would  readjust  themselves.  In  a 
few  days'  time  the  incident  would  be  forgotten.  But 
she  found  that  she  herself  could  not  forget  it,  and 
that  as  days  went  on  the  idea  of  this  passive,  silent 
deception  she  was  obliged  to  maintain  occurred  to 
her  oftener  and  oftener.  She  remembered  again 
hew  glibly  and  easily  she  had  lied  to  her  friend  upon 
the  evening  of  her  return.  How  was  it  that  the  lie 
had  flowed  so  smoothly  from  her  lips?  To  her 
knowledge  she  had  never  deliberately  lied  before. 
She  would  have  supposed  that,  because  of  this  fact, 
falsehood  would  come  difficult  to  her,  that  she  would 
have  bungled,  hesitated,  stammered.  But  it  was  the 
reverse  that  had  been  the  case.  The  facility  with 
which  dhe  had  uttered  the  lie  was  what  now  began  to 
disturb  and  to  alarm  her.  It  argued  some  sudden 
collapse  of  her  whole  system  of  morals,  some  funda- 
mental disarrangement  of  the  entire  machine. 

Abruptly  she  recoiled.  Whither  was  she  tend- 
ing? If  she  supinely  resigned  herself  to  the  current 
of  circumstance,  where  would  she  be  carried  ?  Yet 
how  was  she  to  free  herself  from  the  current,  how  to 
face  this  new  situation  that  suddenly  presented  itself 
at  a  time  when  she  had  fancied  the  real  shock  of 
battle  and  contention  was  spent  and  past? 

How  was  she  to  go  back  now?  How  could  she 
retrace  her  steps?  There  was  but  one  way — cor- 
12  177 


A  Man's  Woman 

rect  the  false  impression.  It  would  not  be  neces- 
sary to  acknowledge  that  she  had  been  forced  to 
leave  her  post;  the  essential  was  that  her  compan- 
ions should  know  that  she  had  deceived  them — that 
she  had  left  the  bedside  before  her  patient's  death. 
But  at  the  thought  of  making  such  confession,  pub- 
lic as  it  must  be,  everything  that  was  left  of  her 
wounded  pride  revolted.  She  who  had  been  so  firm, 
she  who  had  held  so  tenaciously  to  her  principles, 
she  who  had  posed  before  them  as  an  example  of 
devotion  and  courage — she  could  not  bring  herself 
to  that. 

"  No,  no,"  she  exclaimed  as  this  alternative  pre- 
sented itself  to  her  mind.  "  No,  I  cannot.  It  is 
beyond  me.  I  simply  cannot  do  it." 

But  she  could.  Yes,  she  could  do  it  if  she  would. 
Deep  down  in  her  mind  that  little  thought  arose. 
She  could  if  she  wanted  to.  Hide  it  though  she 
might,  cover  it  and  bury  it  with  what  false  reasoning 
she  could  invent,  the  little  thought  would  not  be 
smothered,  would  not  be  crushed  out.  Well,  then, 
she  would  not.  Was  it  not  her  chance;  was  not 
this  deception  which  others  and  not  herself  had 
created,  her  opportunity  to  recover  herself,  to  live 
down  what  had  been  done — what  she  had  been 
forced  to  do,  rather?  Absolute  right  was  never  to 
be  attained;  was  not  life  to  be  considered  rather  in 
the  light  of  a  compromise  between  good  and  evil? 
To  do  what  one  could  under  the  circumstances,  was 
not  that  the  golden  mean  ? 

But  she  ought.  And,  quick,  another  little  thought 
sprang  up  in  the  deeper  recesses  of  her  mind  and 
took  its  place  beside  the  other.  It  was  right  that 
'  178 


A  Man's  Woman 

she  should  be  true.  She  ought  to  do  the  right. 
Argument,  the  pleas  of  weakness,  the  demands  of 
expediency,  the  plausibility  of  compromise  were  all 
of  no  avail.  The  idea  "  I  ought  "  persisted  and  per- 
sisted and  persisted.  She  could  and  she  ought. 
There  was  no  excuse  for  her,  and  no  sooner  had  she 
thrust  aside  the  shifty  mass  of  sophistries  under  - 
which  she  had  striven  to  conceal  them,  no  sooner 
had  she  let  in  the  light,  than  these  two  conceptions 
of  Duty  and  Will  began  suddenly  to  grow. 

But  what  was  she  to  gain?  What  would  be  the 
result  of  such  a  course  as  her  conscience  demanded 
she  should  adopt  ?  It  was  inevitable  that  she  would 
be  misunderstood,  cruelly  misjudged.  What  action 
would  her  confession  entail?  She  could  not  say. 
But  results  did  not  matter ;  what  she  was  to  gain  or 
lose  did  not  matter.  Around  her  and  before  her 
all  was  dark  and  vague  and  terrible.  If  she  was  to 
escape  there  was  but  one  thing  to  do.  Suddenly 
her  own  words  came  back  to  her : 

"  All  we  can  do  is  to  hold  to  what  we  know  is 
right,  and  trust  that  everything  will  come  well  in 
the  end." 

She  knew  what  was  right,  and  she  had  the  strength 
to  hold  to  it.  Then  all  at  once  there  came  to  Lloyd 
a  grand,  breathless  sense  of  uplifting,  almost  a  trans- 
figuration. She  felt  herself  carried  high  above  the 
sphere  of  little  things,  the  region  of  petty  consider- 
ations. What  did  she  care  for  consequences,  what 
mattered  to  her  the  unjust  condemnation  of  her 
world,  if  only  she  remained  true  to  herself,  if  only 
she  did  right?  What  did  she  care  for  what  she 
gained?  It  was  no  longer  a  question  of  gain  or 
179 


A  Man's  Woman 

loss — it  was  a  question  of  being  true  and  strong 
and  brave.  The  conflict  of  that  day  at  Medford 
between  the  man's  power  and  the  woman's  resist- 
ance had  been  cruel,  the  crisis  had  been  intense, 
and  though  she  had  been  conquered  then,  had  it, 
after  all,  been  beyond  recall  ?  No,  she  was  not  con- 
quered. No,  she  was  not  subdued.  Her  will  had 
not  been  broken,  her  courage  had  not  been  daunted, 
her  strength  had  not  been  weakened.  Here  was  the 
greater  fight,  here  was  the  higher  test.  Here  was 
the  ultimate,  supreme  crisis  of  all,  and  here,  at  last, 
come  what  might,  she  would  not,  would  not,  would 
not  fail. 

As  soon  as  Lloyd  reached  this  conclusion  she  sat 
about  carrying  her  resolution  into  effect. 

"  If  I  don't  do  it  now  while  I'm  strong,"  she  told 
herself,  "  if  I  wait,  I  never  will  do  it." 

Perhaps  there  was  yet  a  touch  of  the  hysterical 
in  her  actions  even  then.  The  jangled  feminine 
nerves  were  yet  vibrating  far  above  their  normal 
pitch ;  she  was  overwrought  and  oversensitive,  for 
just  as  a  fanatic  rushes  eagerly  upon  the  fire  and 
the  steel,  preferring  the  more  exquisite  torture,  so 
Lloyd  sought  out  the  more  painful  situation,  the 
more  trying  ordeal,  the  line  of  action  that  called 
for  the  greatest  fortitude,  the  most  unflinching 
courage. 

She  chose  to  make  known  her  real  position,  to 
correct  the  false  impression  at  a  time  when  all 
the  nurses  of  the  house  should  be  together.  This 
would  be  at  supper-time.  Since  her  return  from 
Medford,  Lloyd  had  shut  herself  away  from  the 
other  inmates  of  the  house,  and  had  taken  her  meals 
i  So 


A  Man's  Woman 

in  her  room.  With  the  exception  of  Miss  Douglass 
and  the  superintendent  nurse  no  one  had  seen  her. 
She  had  passed  her  time  lying  at  full  length  upon 
her  couch,  her  hands  clasped  behind  her  head,  or 
pacing  the  floor,  or  gazing  listlessly  out  of  her  win- 
dows, while  her  thoughts  raced  at  a  gallop  through 
her  mind. 

Now,  however,  she  bestirred  herself.  She  had 
arrived  at  her  final  decision  early  in  the  afternoon 
of  the  third  day  after  her  return,  and  at  once  she 
resolved  that  she  would  endure  the  ordeal  that  very 
evening. 

She  passed  the  intervening  time,  singularly 
enough,  in  very  carefully  setting  her  room  to  rights, 
adjusting  and  readjusting  the  few  ornaments  on 
the  mantel-shelf  and  walls,  winding  the  clock  that 
struck  ship's  bells  instead  of  the  hours,  and  minutely 
sorting  the  letters  and  papers  in  her  desk.  It  was 
the  same  as  if  she  were  going  upon  a  long  journey 
or  were  preparing  for  a  great  sickness.  Toward 
four  o'clock  Miss  Douglass,  looking  in  to  ask  how 
she  did,  found  her  before  her  mirror  carefully  comb- 
ing and  arranging  her  great  bands  and  braids  of 
dark-red  hair.  The  fever  nurse  declared  that  she 
was  immensely  improved  in  appearance,  and  asked 
at  once  if  she  was  not  feeling  better. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Lloyd,  "  very  much  better," 
adding :  "  I  shall  be  down  to  supper  to-night." 

For  some  reason  that  she  could  not  explain 
Lloyd  took  unusual  pains  with  her  toilet,  debating 
long  over  each  detail  of  dress  and  ornament.  At 
length,  toward  five  o'clock,  she  was  ready,  and  sat 
down  by  her  window,  a  book  in  her  lap,  to  await 


A  Man's  Woman 

the  announcement  of  supper  as  the  condemned 
await  the  summons  to  execution. 

Her  plan  was  to  delay  her  appearance  in  the 
dining-room  until  she  was  sure  that  everybody  was 
present;  then  she  would  go  down,  and,  standing 
there  before  them  all,  say  what  she  had  to  say,  state 
the  few  bald  facts  of  the  case,  without  excuse  or 
palliation,  and  leave  them  to  draw  the  one  inevitable 
conclusion. 

But  this  final  hour  of  waiting  was  a  long  agony 
for  Lloyd.  Her  moods  changed  with  every  mo- 
ment; the  action  she  contemplated  presented  itself 
to  her  mind  in  a  multitude  of  varying  lights.  At 
one  time  she  quivered  with  the  apprehension  of  it, 
as  though  at  the  slow  approach  of  hot  irons.  At 
another  she  could  see  no  reason  for  being  greatly 
concerned  over  the  matter.  Did  the  whole  affair 
amount  to  so  much,  after  all?  Her  companions 
would,  of  their  own  accord,  make  excuses  for  her. 
Risking  one's  life  in  the  case  of  a  virulent,  con- 
tagious disease  was  no  small  matter.  No  one  could 
be  blamed  for  leaving  such  a  case.  At  one  moment 
Lloyd's  idea  of  public  confession  seemed  to  her  little 
less  than  sublime;  at  another,  almost  ridiculous. 
But  she  remembered  the  case  of  Harriet  Freeze, 
who  had  been  unable  to  resist  the  quiet,  unexpressed 
force  of  opinion  of  her  fellow-workers.  It  would 
be  strange  if  Lloyd  should  find  herself  driven  from 
the  very  house  she  had  built. 

The  hour  before  supper-time  seemed  intermina- 
ble ;  the  quarter  passed,  then  the  half,  then  the  three- 
quarters.  Lloyd  imagined  she  began  to  detect  a 
faint  odour  of  the  kitchen  in  the  air.  Suddenly  ttm 

142 


A  Man's  Woman 

remaining  minutes  of  the  hour  began  to  be  stricken 
from  the  dial  of  her  clock  with  bewildering  rapidity. 
From  the  drawing-room  immediately  below  came 
the  sounds  of  the  piano.  That  was  Esther  Thiel- 
man,  no  doubt,  playing  one  of  her  interminable 
Polish  compositions.  All  at  once  the  piano  stopped, 
and,  with  a  quick  sinking  of  the  heart,  Lloyd  heard 
the  sliding  doors  separating  the  drawing-room  from 
the  dining-room  roll  back.  Miss  Douglass  and 
another  one  of  the  nurses,  Miss  Truslow,  a  young 
girl,  a  newcomer  in  the  house,  came  out  of  the 
former's  room  and  went  downstairs,  discussing  the 
merits  of  burlap  as  preferable  to  wall-paper.  Lloyd 
even  heard  Miss  Truslow  remark : 

"  Yes,  that's  very  true,  but  if  it  isn't  sized  it  will 
wrinkle  in  damp  weather." 

Rownie  came  to  Lloyd's  door  and  knocked,  and, 
without  waiting  for  a  reply,  said : 

"  Dinneh's  served,  Miss  Searight,"  and  Lloyd 
heard  her  make  the  same  announcement  at  Miss 
Bergyn's  room  farther  down  the  hall.  One  by  one 
Lloyd  heard  the  others  go  downstairs.  The  rooms 
and  hallways  on  the  second  floor  fell  quiet.  A  faint, 
subdued  murmur  of  talk  came  to  her  ears  in  the 
direction  of  the  dining-room.  Lloyd  waited  for 
five,  for  ten,  for  fifteen  minutes.  Then  she  rose, 
drawing  in  her  breath,  straightening  herself  to  her 
full  height.  She  went  to  the  door,  then  paused  for 
a  moment,  looking  back  at  all  the  familiar  objects — 
the  plain,  rich  furniture,  the  book-shelves,  the  great, 
comfortable  couch,  the  old-fashioned  round  mirror 
that  hung  between  the  windows,  and  her  writing- 
desk  of  blackened  mahogany.  It  seemed  to  her 
183 


A  Man's  Woman 

that  in  some  way  she  was  never  to  see  these  things 
again,  as  if  she  were  saying  good-bye  to  them  and 
to  the  life  she  had  led  in  that  room  and  in  their 
surroundings.  She  would  be  a  different  woman 
when  she  came  back  to  that  room.  Slowly  she  de- 
scended the  stairs  and  halted  for  a  moment  in  the 
hall  below.  It  was  not  too  late  to  turn  back  even 
now.  She  could  hear  her  companions  at  their  sup- 
per very  plainly,  and  could  distinguish  Esther 
Thielman's  laugh  as  she  exclaimed: 

"Why,  of  course,  that's  the  very  thing  I 
mean." 

It  was  a  strange  surprise  that  Lloyd  had  in  store 
for  them  all.  Her  heart  began  to  beat  heavy  and 
thick.  Could  she  even  find  her  voice  to  speak 
when  the  time  came  ?  Would  it  not  be  better  to  put 
it  off,  to  think  over  the  whole  matter  again  between 
now  and  to-morrow  morning?  But  she  moved  her 
head  impatiently.  No,  she  would  not  turn  back. 
She  found  that  the  sliding  doors  in  the  drawing- 
room  had  been  closed,  and  so  went  to  the  door  that 
opened  into  the  dining-room  from  the  hall  itself. 
It  stood  ajar.  Lloyd  pushed  it  open,  entered,  and, 
closing  the  door  behind  her,  stood  there  leaning 
against  it. 

The  table  was  almost  full ;  only  two  or  three  places 
besides  her  own  were  unoccupied.  There  was  Miss 
Bergyn  at  the  head ;  the  fever  nurse,  Miss  Douglass, 
at  her  right,  and,  lower  down,  Lloyd  saw  Esther 
Thielman ;  Delia  Craig,  just  back  from  a  surgical 
case  of  Dr.  Street's ;  Miss  Page,  the  oldest  and  most 
experienced  nurse  of  them  all;  Gilbertson,  whom 
every  one  called  by  her  last  name;  Miss  Ives  and 
184 


A  Man's  Woman 

Eleanor  Bogart,  who  had  both  taken  doctors'  de- 
grees, and  could  have  practised  if  they  had  desired ; 
Miss  Wentworth,  who  had  served  an  apprenticeship 
in  a  missionary  hospital  in  Armenia,  and  had  known 
Clara  Barton,  and,  last  of  all,  the  newcomer,  Miss 
Truslow,  very  young  and  very  pretty,  who  had 
never  yet  had  a  case,  and  upon  whose  diploma  the 
ink  was  hardly  dry. 

At  first,  so  quietly  had  she  entered,  no  one  took 
any  notice  of  Lloyd,  and  she  stood  a  moment,  her 
back  to  the  door,  wondering  how  she  should  begin. 
Everybody  seemed  to  be  in  the  best  of  humour;  a 
babel  of  talk  was  in  the  air;  conversations  were 
going  forward,  carried  on  across  the  table,  or  over 
intervening  shoulders. 

"  Why,  of  course,  don't  you  see,  that's  the  very 
thing  I  meant " 

" 1   think  you   can   get  that  already   sized, 

though,  and  with  a  stencil  figure  if  you  want  it " 

" Really,  it's  very  interesting ;  the  first  part 

is  stupid,  but  she  has  some  very  good  ideas." 

" Yes,  at  Vanoni's.     But  we  get  a  reduction, 

you  know " 

" and,  oh,  listen ;  this  is  too  funny ;  she  turned 

around  and  said,  very  prim  and  stiff,  '  No,  indeed ; 
I'm  too  old  a  woman.'  Funny !  If  I  think  of  that 
on  my  deathbed  I  shall  laugh " 

" and  so  that  settled  it.     How  could  I  go  on 

after  that ?" 

" Must  you  tack  it  on?    The  walls  are  so 

hard " 

"  Let  Rownie  do  it ;  she  knows.  Oh,  here's  the 
invalid  1 " 

185 


A  Man's  Woman 

"  Oh,  why,  it's  Lloyd !  We're  so  glad  you're  able 
to  come  down !  " 

But  when  they  had  done  exclaiming  over  her 
reappearance  among  them  Lloyd  still  remained  as 
she  was,  her  back  against  the  door,  standing  very 
straight,  her  hands  at  her  side.  She  did  not  imme- 
diately reply.  Heads  were  turned  in  her  direction. 
The  talk  fell  away  by  rapid  degrees  as  they  began 
to  notice  the  paleness  of  her  face  and  the  strange, 
firm  set  of  her  mouth. 

"  Sit  down,  Lloyd,"  said  Miss  Bergyn ;  "  don't 
stand.  You  are  not  very  well  yet ;  I'll  have  Rownie 
bring  you  a  glass  of  sherry." 

There  was  a  silence.     Then  at  length: 

"  No,"  said  Lloyd  quietly.  "  I  don't  want  any 
sherry.  I  don't  want  any  supper.  I  came  down  to 
tell  you  that  you  are  all  wrong  in  thinking  I  did 
what  I  could  with  my  typhoid  case  at  Medford.  You 
think  I  left  only  after  the  patient  had  died.  I  did 
not ;  I  left  before.  There  was  a  crisis  of  some  kind. 
I  don't  know  what  it  was,  because  I  was  not  in  the 
sick-room  at  the  time,  and  I  did  not  go  when  I  was 
called.  The  doctor  was  not  there  either;  he  had 
gone  out  and  left  the  case  in  my  charge.  There  was 
nobody  with  the  patient  but  a  servant.  The  servant 
called  me,  but  I  did  not  go.  Instead  I  came  away 
and  left  the  house.  The  patient  died  that  same 
day.  It  is  that  that  I  wanted  to  tell  you.  Do 
you  all  understand — perfectly?  I  left  my  patient 
at  the  moment  of  a  crisis,  and  with  no  one  with 
him  but  a  servant.  And  he  died  that  same  after- 
noon." 

Then  she  went  out,  and  the  closing  of  the  door 
186 


A  Man's  Woman 

jarred  sharply  upon  the  great  silence  that  had  spread 
throughout  the  room. 

Lloyd  went  back  to  her  room,  closed  and  locked 
the  door,  and,  sinking  down  upon  the  floor  by  the 
couch,  bowed  her  head  upon  her  folded  arms.  But 
she  was  in  no  mood  for  weeping,  and  her  eyes  were 
dry.  She  was  conscious  chiefly  that  she  had  taken 
an  irrevocable  step,  that  her  head  had  begun  to  ache. 
There  was  no  exhilaration  in  her  mind  now ;  she  did 
not  feel  any  of  the  satisfaction  of  attainment  after 
struggle,  of  triumph  after  victory.  More  than  once 
she  even  questioned  herself  if,  after  all,  her  confes- 
sion had  been  necessary.  But  now  she  was  weary 
unto  death  of  the  whole  wretched  business.  Now 
she  only  knew  that  her  head  was  aching  fiercely; 
she  did  not  care  either  to  look  into  the  past  or  for- 
ward into  the  future.  The  present  occupied  her; 
for  the  present  her  head  was  aching. 

But  before  Lloyd  went  to  bed  that  night  Miss 
Bergyn  knew  the  whole  truth  as  to  what  had  hap- 
pened at  Dr.  Pitts's  house.  The  superintendent 
nurse  had  followed  Lloyd  to  her  room  almost  imme- 
diately, and  would  not  be  denied.  She  knew  very 
well  that  Lloyd  Searight  had  never  left  a  dying  pa- 
tient of  her  own  volition.  Intuitively  she  guessed 
at  something  hidden. 

"  Lloyd,"  she  said  decisively,  "  don't  ask  me  to 
believe  that  you  went  of  your  own  free  will.  Tell 
me  just  what  happened.  Why  did  you  go?  Ask 
me  to  believe  anything  but  that  you — no,  I 
won't  say  the  word.  There  was  some  very  good 
reason,  wasn't  there  ?  " 

"  I — I  cannot  explain,"  Lloyd  answered.  "  You 
187 


A  Man's  Woman 

must  think  what  you  choose.  You  wouldn't  under- 
stand." 

But,  happily,  when  Lloyd's  reticence  finally  broke 
Miss  Bergyn  did  understand.  The  superintendent 
nurse  knew  Bennett  only  by  report.  But  Lloyd 
she  had  known  for  years,  and  realised  that  if  she  had 
yielded,  it  had  only  been  after  the  last  hope  had 
been  tried.  In  the  end  Lloyd  told  her  everything 
that  had  occurred.  But,  though  she  even  admitted 
Bennett's  affection  for  her,  she  said  nothing  about 
herself,  and  Miss  Bergyn  did  not  ask. 

"  I  know,  of  course,"  said  the  superintendent 
nurse  at  length,  "  you  hate  to  think  that  you  were 
made  to  go ;  but  men  are  stronger  than  women, 
Lloyd,  and  such  a  man  as  that  must  be  stronger 
than  most  men.  You  were  not  to  blame  because 
you  left  the  case,  and  you  are  certainly  not  to  blame 
for  Mr.  Ferriss's  death.  Now  I  shall  give  it  out 
here  in  the  house  that  you  had  a  very  good  reason 
for  leaving  your  case,  and  that  while  we  can't  ex- 
plain it  any  more  particularly,  I  have  had  a  talk 
with  you  and  know  all  about  it,  and  am  perfectly 
satisfied.  Then  I  shall  go  out  to  Medford  and  see 
Dr.  Pitts.  It  would  be  best,"  she  added,  for  Lloyd 
had  made  a  gesture  of  feeble  dissent.  "  He  must 
understand  perfectly,  and  we  need  not  be  afraid  of 
any  talk  about  the  matter  at  all.  What  has  hap- 
pened has  happened  '  in  the  profession,'  and  I  don't 
believe  it  will  go  any  further." 

Lloyd  returned  to  Bannister  toward  the  end  of 
the  week.  How  long  she  would  remain  she  did  not 
know,  but  for  the  present  the  association  of  the 

1 88 


A  Man's  Woman 

other  nurses  was  more  than  she  was  able  to  bear. 
Later,  when  the  affair  had  become  something  of  an 
old  story,  she  would  return,  resuming  her  work  as 
though  nothing  had  happened. 

Hattie  met  her  at  the  railway  station  with  the 
phaeton  and  the  ponies.  She  was  radiant  with  de- 
light at  the  prospect  of  having  Lloyd  all  to  herself 
for  an  indefinite  period  of  time. 

"  And  you  didn't  get  sick,  after  all  ? "  she  ex- 
claimed, clasping  her  hands.  "  Was  your  patient 
as  sick  as  I  was?  Weren't  his  parents  glad  that 
you  made  him  well  again  ?  " 

Lloyd  put  her  hand  over  the  little  girl's  mouth. 

"  Let  us  not  talk  any  '  shop/  Hattie,"  she  said, 
trying  to  smile. 

But  on  the  morning  after  her  arrival  Lloyd  woke 
in  her  own  white  room  of  the  old  farm-house, 
abruptly  conscious  of  some  subtle  change  that  had 
occurred  to  her  overnight.  For  the  first  time  since 
the  scene  in  the  breakfast-room  at  Medford  she  was 
aware  of  a  certain  calmness  that  had  come  to  her. 
Perhaps  she  had  at  last  begun  to  feel  the  good 
effects  of  the  trial  by  fire  which  she  had  voluntarily 
undergone — to  know  a  certain  happiness  that  now 
there  was  no  longer  any  deceit  in  her  heart.  This 
she  had  uprooted  and  driven  out  by  force  of  her 
own  will.  It  was  gone.  But  now,  on  this  morning, 
she  seemed  to  feel  that  this  was  not  all. 

Something  else  had  left  her — something  that  of 
late  had  harassed  her  and  goaded  her  and  embit- 
tered her  life,  and  mocked  at  her  gentleness  and 
kindness,  was  gone.  That  fierce,  truculent  hatred 
that  she  had  so  striven  to  put  from  her,  now  behold  1 
189 


A  Man's  Woman 

of  its  own  accord,  it  had  seemed  to  leave  her.  How 
had  it  happened  ?  Before  she  had  dared  the  ordeal 
of  confession  this  feeling  of  hatred,  this  perverse 
and  ugly  changeling  that  had  brooded  in  her  heart, 
had  seemed  too  strong,  too  deeply  seated  to  be 
moved.  Now,  suddenly,  it  had  departed,  unbidden, 
without  effort  on  her  part. 

Vaguely  Lloyd  wondered  at  this  thing.  In  driv- 
ing deceit  from  her  it  would  appear  that  she  had 
also  driven  out  hatred,  that  the  one  could  not  stay 
so  soon  as  the  other  had  departed.  Could  the  one 
exist  apart  from  the  other  ?  Was  there,  then,  some 
strange  affinity  in  all  evil,  as,  perhaps,  in  all  good,  so 
that  a  victory  over  one  bad  impulse  meant  a  victory 
over  many  ?  Without  thought  of  gain  or  of  reward, 
she  had  held  to  what  was  right  through  the  con- 
fusion and  storm  and  darkness.  Was  this  to  be, 
after  all,  her  reward,  her  gain?  Possibly;  but  she 
could  not  tell,  she  could  not  see.  The  confusion 
was  subsiding,  the  storm  had  passed,  but  much  of 
the  darkness  yet  remained.  Deceit  she  had  fought 
from  out  her  heart ;  silently  Hatred  had  stolen  after 
it.  Love  had  not  returned  to  his  old  place,  and 
never,  never  would,  but  the  changeling  was  gone, 
and  the  house  was  swept  and  garnished. 


190 


VIII. 

The  day  after  the  funeral,  Bennett  returned  alone 
to  Dr.  Pitts's  house  at  Medford,  and  the  same  even- 
ing- his  trunks  and  baggage,  containing  his  papers 
— the  records,  observations,  journals,  and  log-books 
of  the  expedition — followed  him. 

As  Bennett  entered  the  gate  of  the  place  that  he 
had  chosen  to  be  his  home  for  the  next  year,  he  was 
aware  that  the  windows  of  one  of  the  front  rooms 
upon  the  second  floor  were  wide  open,  the  curtains 
tied  up  into  loose  knots ;  inside  a  servant  came  and 
went,  putting  the  room  to  rights  again,  airing  it 
and  changing  the  furniture.  In  the  road  before 
the  house  he  had  seen  the  marks  of  the  wheels  of  the 
undertaker's  wagon  where  it  had  been  backed  up 
to  the  horse-block.  As  he  closed  the  front  door 
behind  him  and  stood  for  a  moment  in  the  hallway, 
his  valise  in  his  hand,  he  saw,  hanging  upon  one  of 
the  pegs  of  the  hat-rack,  the  hat  Ferriss  had  last 
worn.  Bennett  put  down  his  valise  quickly,  and, 
steadying  himself  against  the  wall,  leaned  heavily 
against  it,  drawing  a  deep  breath,  his  eyes  closing. 

The  house  was  empty  and,  but  for  the  occasional 
subdued  noises  that  came  from  the  front  room  at 
the  end  of  the  hall,  silent.  Bennett  picked  up  his 
valise  again  and  went  upstairs  to  the  rooms  that 
had  been  set  apart  for  him.  He  did  not  hang  his 
hat  upon  the  hat-rack,  but  carried  it  with  him. 


A  Man's  Woman 

The  housekeeper,  who  met  him  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs  and  showed  him  the  way  to  his  apartments, 
inquired  of  him  as  to  the  hours  he  wished  to  have 
his  meals  served.  Bennett  told  her,  and  then  added : 

"  I  will  have  all  my  meals  in  the  breakfast-room, 
the  one  you  call  the  glass-room,  I  believe.  And  as 
soon  as  the  front  room  is  ready  I  shall  sleep  there. 
That  will  be  my  room  after  this." 

The  housekeeper  stared.  "  It  won't  be  quite 
safe,  sir,  for  some  time.  The  doctor  gave  very  strict 
orders  about  ventilating  it  and  changing  the  furni- 
ture." 

Bennett  merely  nodded  as  if  to  say  he  understood, 
and  the  housekeeper  soon  after  left  him  to  him- 
self. The  afternoon  passed,  then  the  evening.  Such 
supper  as  Bennett  could  eat  was  served  according 
to  his  orders  in  the  breakfast-room.  Afterward  he 
called  Kamiska,  and  went  for  a  long  walk  over  the 
country  roads  in  a  direction  away  from  the  town, 
proceeding  slowly,  his  hands  clasped  behind  his 
back.  Later,  toward  ten  o'clock,  he  returned.  He 
went  upstairs  toward  his  room  with  the  half-formed 
idea  of  looking  over  and  arranging  his  papers  be- 
fore going  to  bed.  Sleep  he  could  not ;  he  foresaw 
that  clearly. 

But  Bennett  was  not  yet  familiar  with  the  ar- 
rangement of  the  house.  His  mind  was  busy  with 
other  things;  he  was  thoughtful,  abstracted,  and 
upon  reaching  the  stair  landing  on  the  second  floor, 
turned  toward  the  front  of  the  house  when  he  should 
have  turned  toward  the  rear.  He  entered  what  he 
supposed  to  be  his  room,  lit  the  gas,  then  stared 
about  him  in  some  perplexity. 
193 


A  Man's  Woman 

The  room  he  was  in  was  almost  bare  of  furniture. 
Even  part  of.  the  carpet  had  been  taken  up.  The 
windows  were  wide  open ;  a  stale  odour  of  drugs 
pervaded  the  air,  while  upon  the  bed  nothing  re- 
mained but  the  mattress  and  bolster.  For  a  moment 
Bennett  looked  about  him  bewildered,  then  he 
started  sharply.  This  was — had  been — the  sick- 
room. Here,  upon  that  bed,  Ferriss  had  died ;  here 
had  been  enacted  one  scene  in  the  terrible  drama 
wherein  he,  Bennett,  had  played  so  conspicuous  a 
part. 

As  Bennett  stood  there  looking  about  him,  one 
hand  upon  the  footboard  of  the  bed,  a  strange,  form- 
less oppression  of  the  spirit  weighed  heavily  upon 
him.  He  seemed  to  see  upon  that  naked  bed  the 
wasted,  fever-stricken  body  of  the  dearest  friend 
he  had  ever  known.  It  was  as  though  Ferriss  were 
lying  in  state  there,  with  black  draperies  hung  about 
the  bier  and  candles  burning  at  the  head  and  foot. 
Death  had  been  in  that  room.  Empty  though  it 
was,  a  certain  religious  solemnity,  almost  a  certain 
awe,  seemed  to  bear  down  upon  the  senses.  Before 
he  knew  it  Bennett  found  himself  kneeling  at  the 
denuded  bed,  his  face  buried,  his  arms  flung  wide 
across  the  place  where  Ferriss  had  last  reposed. 

He  could  not  say  how  long  he  remained  thus — 
perhaps  ten  minutes,  perhaps  an  hour.  He  seemed 
to  come  to  himself  once  more  when  he  stepped  out 
into  the  hall  again,  closing  and  locking  the  door 
of  the  death-room  behind  him.  But  now  all  thought 
of  work  had  left  him.  In  the  morning  he  would 
arrange  his  papers.  It  was  out  of  the  question  to 
think  of  sleep.  He  descended  once  more  to  the 
13  193 


A  Man's  Woman 

lower  floor  of  the  silent  house,  and  stepped  out  again 
into  the  open  air. 

On  the  veranda,  close  beside  him,  was  a  deep- 
seated  wicker  arm-chair.  Bennett  sank  down  into 
it,  drawing  his  hands  wearily  across  his  forehead. 
The  stillness  of  a  summer  night  had  settled  broadly 
over  the  vast,  dim  landscape.  There  was  no  moon ; 
all  the  stars  were  out.  Very  far  off  a  whippoorwill 
was  calling  incessantly.  Once  or  twice  from  the 
little  orchard  close  at  hand  an  apple  dropped  with 
a  faint  rustle  of  leaves  and  a  muffled,  velvety  impact 
upon  the  turf.  Kamiska,  wide  awake,  sat  motion- 
less upon  her  haunches  on  the  steps,  looking  off  into 
the  night,  cocking  an  ear  to  every  faintest  sound. 

Well,  Ferriss  was  dead,  and  he,  Bennett,  was 
responsible.  His  friend,  the  man  whom  most  he 
loved,  was  dead.  The  splendid  fight  he  had  made 
for  his  life  during  that  ferocious  struggle  with  the 
Ice  had  been  all  of  no  effect.  Without  a  murmur, 
without  one  complaint  he  had  borne  starvation,  the 
bitter  arctic  cold,  privation  beyond  words,  the  tor- 
ture of  the  frost  that  had  gnawed  away  his  hands, 
the  blinding  fury  of  the  snow  and  wind,  the  unceas- 
ing and  incredible  toil  with  sledge  and  pack — all  the 
terrible  hardship  of  an  unsuccessful  attempt  to  reach 
the  Pole,  only  to  die  miserably  in  his  bed,  alone, 
abandoned  by  the  man  and  woman  whom,  of  all  peo- 
ple of  the  world,  he  had  most  loved  and  trusted. 
And  he,  Bennett,  had  been  to  blame. 

Was  Ferriss  conscious  during  that  last  moment? 

Did  he  know ;  would  he,   sometime,   somewhere, 

know?     It  could  not  be  said.     Forever  that  must 

remain  a  mystery.    And,  after  all,  had  Bennett  done 

*94 


A  Man's  Woman 

right  in  keeping  Lloyd  from  the  sick-room  ?  Now 
that  all  was  over,  now  that  the  whole  fearful  tragedy 
could  be  judged  somewhat  calmly  and  in  the  light 
of  reason,  the  little  stealthy  doubt  began  to  insinuate 
itself. 

At  first  he  had  turned  from  it,  raging  and  furious, 
stamping  upon  it  as  upon  an  intruding  reptile.  The 
rough-hewn,  simple-natured  man,  with  his  arrogant 
and  vast  self-confidence,  his  blind,  unshaken  belief 
in  the  wisdom  of  his  own  decisions,  had  never  in  his 
life  before  been  willing  to  admit  that  he  could  be 
mistaken,  that  it  was  possible  for  him  to  resolve 
upon  a  false  line  of  action.  He  had  always  been 
right.  But  now  a  change  had  come.  A  woman 
had  entangled  herself  in  the  workings  of  his  world, 
the  world  that  hitherto  had  been  only  a  world  of 
men  for  him — and  now  he  faltered,  now  he  ques- 
tioned himself,  now  he  scrutinised  his  motives,  now 
the  simple  became  complicated,  the  straight 
crooked,  right  mingled  with  wrong,  bitter  with 
sweet,  falseness  with  truth. 

He  who  had  faith  in  himself  to  remove  mountains, 
he  who  could  drive  his  fellow-men  as  a  herder  drives 
his  shtep,  he  who  had  forced  the  vast  grip  of  the 
Ice,  had,  with  a  battering  ram's  force,  crushed  his 
way  through  those  terrible  walls,  shattered  and 
breached  and  broken  down  the  barriers,  now  in 
this  situation  involving  a  woman — had  he  failed? 
Had  he  weakened?  And  bigger,  stronger,  and 
more  persistently  doubt  intruded  itself  into  his  mind. 

Hitherto  Bennett's  only  salvation  from  absolute 
despair  had  been  the  firm  consciousness  of  his  own 
rectitude.  In  that  lay  his  only  comfort,  his  only  hope, 
195 


A  Man's  Woman 

his  one,  strong-built  fabric  of  defence.  If  that  was 
undermined,  if  that  was  eaten  away,  what  was  there 
left  for  him?  Carefully,  painfully,  and  with  such 
minuteness  as  he  could  command,  he  went  over  the 
whole  affair  from  beginning  to  end,  forcing  his  un- 
willing mind — so  unaccustomed  to  such  work — to 
weigh  each  chance,  to  gauge  each  opportunity.  If 
this  were  so,  if  that  had  been  done,  then  would  such 
results  have  followed?  Suppose  he  had  not  inter- 
fered, suppose  he  had  stood  aside,  would  Lloyd  have 
run  such  danger,  after  all,  and  would  Ferriss  at  this 
time  have  been  alive,  and  perhaps  recovering?  Had 
he,  Bennett,  been  absolutely  mad ;  had  he  been  blind 
and  deaf  to  reason ;  had  he  acted  the  part  of  a  brute 
— a  purblind,  stupid,  and  unutterably  selfish  brute — 
thinking  chiefly  of  himself,  after  all,  crushing  the 
woman  who  was  so  dear  to  him,  sacrificing  the  life 
of  the  man  he  loved,  blundering  in  there,  besotted 
and  ignorant,  acting  the  bully's  part,  unnecessarily 
frightened,  cowardly  where  he  imagined  himself 
brave ;  weak,  contemptibly  weak,  where  he  imagined 
himself  strong?  Might  it  not  have  been  avoided 
if  he  had  been  even  merely  reasonable,  as,  in  like 
case,  an  ordinary  man  would  have  been  ?  He,  who 
prided  himself  upon  the  promptness  and  soundness 
of  his  judgment  in  great  crises,  had  lost  his  head 
and  all  power  of  self-control  in  this  greatest  crisis 
of  all. 

The  doubt  came  back  to  him  again  and  again. 
Trample  it,  stifle  it,  dash  it  from  him  as  he  would, 
each  time  it  returned  a  little  stronger,  a  little  larger, 
a  little  more  insistent.  Perhaps,  after  all,  he  had 
made  a  mistake;  perhaps,  after  all,  Lloyd  ran  no 
196 


A  Man's  Woman 

great  danger;  perhaps,  after  all,  Ferriss  might  novr 
have  been  alive.  All  at  once  Bennett  seemed  to  be 
sure  of  this. 

Then  it  became  terrible.  Alone  there,  in  the 
darkness  and  in  the  night,  Bennett  went  down  into 
the  pit.  Abruptly  he  seemed  to  come  to  himself — to 
realise  what  he  had  done,  as  if  rousing  from  a  night- 
mare. Remorse,  horror,  self-reproach,  the  anguish 
of  bereavement,  the  infinite  regret  of  things  that 
never  were  to  be  again,  the  bitterness  of  a  vanished 
love,  self-contempt  too  abject  for  expression,  the 
heart-breaking  grief  of  the  dreadful  might-have- 
been,  one  by  one,  he  knew  them  all.  One  by  one, 
like  the  slow  accumulation  of  gigantic  burdens,  the 
consequences  of  his  folly  descended  upon  him, 
heavier,  more  intolerably,  more  inexorably  'fixed 
with  every  succeeding  moment,  while  the  light  of 
truth  and  reason  searched  every  corner  of  his 
mind,  and  his  doubt  grew  and  hardened  into  cer- 
tainty. 

If  only  Bennett  could  have  believed  that,  in  spite 
of  what  had  happened,  Lloyd  yet  loved  him,  he 
could  have  found  some  ray  of  light  in  the  darkness 
wherein  he  groped,  some  saving  strength  to  bear 
the  weight  of  his  remorse  and  sorrow.  But  now, 
just  in  proportion  as  he  saw  clearer  and  truer  he 
saw  that  he  must  look  for  no  help  in  that  direction. 
Being  what  Lloyd  was,  it  was  impossible  for  her, 
even  though  she  wished  it,  to  love  him  now — love 
the  man  who  had  broken  her!  The  thought  was 
preposterous.  He  remembered  clearly  that  she  had 
warned  him  of  just  this.  No,  that,  too,  the  one 
sweetness  of  his  rugged  life,  he  must  put  from  him 

107 


A  Man's  Woman 

as  well — had  already,  and  of  his  own  accord,  put 
from  him. 

How  go  on?  Of  what  use  now  was  ambition, 
endeavour,  and  the  striving  to  attain  great  ends? 
The  thread  of  his  life  was  snapped ;  his  friend  was 
<lead,  and  the  love  of  the  one  woman  of  his  world. 
For  both  he  was  to  blame.  Of  what  avail  was  it 
now  to  continue  his  work  ? 

Ferriss  was  dead.  Who  now  would  stand  at  his 
side  when  the  darkness  thickened  on  ahead  and  ob- 
stacles drew  across  the  path  and  Death  overhead 
hung  poised  and  menacing? 

Lloyd's  love  for  him  was  dead.  Who  now  to  bid 
him  godspeed  as  his  vessel's  prow  swung  northward 
and  the  water  whitened  in  her  wake  ?  Who  now  to 
wait  behind  when  the  great  fight  was  dared  again, 
to  wait  behind  and  watch  for  his  home-coming ;  and 
when  the  mighty  hope  had  been  achieved,  the  goal 
of  all  the  centuries  attained,  who  now  to  send  that 
first  and  dearest  welcome  out  to  him  when  the  re- 
turning ship  showed  over  the  horizon's  rim,  flagged 
from  her  decks  to  her  crosstrees  in  all  the  royal 
blazonry  of  an  immortal  triumph  ? 

Now,  that  triumph  was  never  to  be  for  him.  Am- 
bition, too,  was  dead ;  some  other  was  to  win  where 
now  he  could  but  lose,  to  gain  where  now  he  could 
but  fail ;  some  other  stronger  than  he,  more  resolute, 
more  determined.  At  last  Bennett  had  come  to  this, 
he  who  once  had  been  so  imperial  in  the  conscious- 
ness of  his  power,  so  arrogant,  so  uncompromising. 
Beaten,  beaten  at  last;  defeated,  daunted,  driven 
from  his  highest  hopes,  abandoning  his  dearest  am- 
bitions. And  how,  and  why?  Not  by  the  Enemy 
198 


A  Man's  Woman 

he  had  so  often  faced  and  dared,  not  by  any  power 
external  to  himself;  but  by  his  very  self's  self, 
crushed  by  the  engine  he  himself  had  set  in  motion, 
shattered  by  the  recoil  of  the  very  force  that  for  so 
long  had  dwelt  within  himself.  Nothing  in  all  the 
world  could  have  broken  him  but  that.  Danger, 
however  great,  could  not  have  cowed  him ;  circum- 
stances, however  hopeless,  could  not  have  made 
him  despair ;  obstacles,  however  vast,  could  not  have 
turned  him  back.  Himself  was  the  only  Enemy  that 
could  have  conquered ;  his  own  power  the  only 
one  to  which  he  would  have  yielded.  And  fate  had 
so  ordered  it  that  this  one  Enemy  of  all  others,  this 
one  power  of  all  others,  had  turned  upon  and  rent 
him.  The  mystery  of  it!  The  terror  of  it!  Why 
had  he  never  known?  How  was  it  he  had  never 
guessed?  What  was  this  ruthless  monster,  this 
other  self,  that  for  so  long  had  slept  within  his  flesh, 
strong  with  his  better  strength,  feeding  and  grow- 
ing big  with  that  he  fancied  was  the  best  in  him, 
that  tricked  him  with  his  noblest  emotion — the  love 
of  a  good  woman — lured  him  to  a  moment  of  weak- 
ness, then  suddenly,  and  without  warning,  leaped 
at  his  throat  and  struck  him  to  the  ground? 

He  had  committed  one  of  those  offences  which  the 
law  does  not  reach,  but  whose  punishment  is  greater 
than  any  law  can  inflict.  Retribution  had  been  fear- 
fully swift.  His  career,  Ferriss,  and  Lloyd — ambi- 
tion, friendship,  and  the  love  of  a  woman — had  been 
a  trinity  of  dominant  impulses  in  his  life.  Abruptly, 
almost  in  a  single  instant,  he  had  lost  them  all,  had 
thrown  them  away.  He  could  never  get  them  back. 
Bennett  started  sharply.  What  was  this  on  his 
199 


A  Man's  Woman 

cheek;  what  was  this  that  suddenly  dimmed  his 
eyes  ?  Had  it  actually  come  to  this  ?  And  this  was 
he — Bennett — the  same  man  who  had  commanded 
the  Freja  expedition.  No,  it  was  not  the  same  man. 
That  man  was  dead.  He  ground  his  teeth,  shaken 
with  the  violence  of  emotions  that  seemed  to  be 
tearing  his  heart  to  pieces.  Lost,  lost  to  him  for- 
ever! Bennett  bowed  his  head  upon  his  folded 
arms.  Through  his  clenched  teeth  his  words  seemed 
almost  wrenched  from  him,  each  word  an  agony. 

"  Dick — Dick,  old  man,  you're  gone,  gone  from 
me,  and  it  was  I  who  did  it ;  and  Lloyd,  she  too — 
she — God  help  me !  " 

Then  the  tension  snapped.  The  great,  massive 
frame  shook  with  grief  from  head  to  heel,  and  the 
harsh,  angular  face,  with  its  salient  jaw  and  hard, 
uncouth  lines,  was  wet  with  the  first  tears  he  had 
ever  known. 

He  was  roused  at  length  by  a  sudden  movement 
on  the  part  of  the  dog.  Kamiska  had  risen  to  her 
feet  with  a  low  growl,  then,  as  the  gate-latch  clinked, 
she  threw  up  her  head  and  gave  tongue  to  the  night 
with  all  the  force  of  her  lungs.  Bennett  straightened 
up,  thanking  fortune  that  the  night  was  dark,  and 
looked  about  him.  A  figure  was  coming  up  the 
front  walk,  the  gravel  crunching  under  foot.  It 
was  the  figure  of  a  maVi.  At  the  foot  of  the  steps 
of  the  veranda  he  paused,  and  as  Bennett  made  a 
movement  turned  in  his  direction  and  said: 

"  Is  this  Dr.  Pitts 's  house?  " 

Bennett's  reply  was  drowned  in  the  clamour  of 
the  dog,  but  the  other  seemed  to  understand,  for  he 
answered : 


A  Man's  Woman 

"  I'm  looking  for  Mr.  Ferriss — Richard  Ferriss, 
of  the  Freja;  they  told  me  he  was  brought  here." 

Kamiska  stopped  her  barking,  sniffed  once  or 
twice  at  the  man's  trouser  legs ;  then,  in  brusque 
frenzy  of  delight,  leaped  against  him,  licking  his 
hands,  dancing  about  him  on  two  legs,  whining  and 
yelping. 

Bennett  came  forward,  and  the  man  changed  his 
position  so  that  the  light  from  the  half-open  front 
door  shone  upon  his  face. 

"Why,  Adler !  "  exclaimed  Bennett;  "  well,  where 
did  you  come  from  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Bennett ! "  almost  shouted  the  other, 
snatching  off  his  cap.  "  It  ain't  really  you,  sir ! " 
His  face  beamed  and  radiated  a  joy  little  short  of 
beatitude.  The  man  was  actually  trembling  with 
happiness.  Words  failed  him,  and  as  with  a  certain 
clumsy  tenderness  he  clasped  Bennett's  hand  in 
both  his  own  his  old-time  chief  saw  the  tears  in  his 
eyes. 

"  Oh !  Maybe  I  ain't  glad  to  see  you,  sir — I 
thought  you  had  gone  away — I  didn't  know  where 
• — I — I  didn't  know  as  I  was  ever  going  to  see  you 
again." 

Kamiska  herself  had  been  no  less  tremulously 
glad  to  see  Adler  than  was  Adler  to  see  Bennett. 
He  stammered,  he  confused  himself,  he  shifted  his 
weight  from  one  foot  to  the  other,  his  eyes  danced, 
he  laughed  and  choked,  he  dropped  his  cap.  His 
joy  was  that  of  a  child,  unrestrained,  unaffected,  as 
genuine  as  gold.  When  they  turned  back  to  the 
veranda  he  eagerly  drew  up  Bennett's  chair  for  him, 
his  eyes  never  leaving  his  face.  It  was  the  quiver- 

201 


A  Man's  Woman 

ing,  inarticulate  affection  of  a  dog  for  its  master, 
faithful,  submissive,  unquestioning,  happy  for  hours 
over  a  chance  look,  a  kind  word,  a  touch  of  the 
hand.  To  Adler's  mind  it  would  have  been  a  privi- 
lege and  an  honour  to  have  died  for  Bennett.  Why, 
he  was  his  chief,  his  king,  his  god,  his  master,  who 
could  do  no  wrong.  Bennett  could  have  slain  him 
where  he  stood  and  Adler  would  still  have  trusted 
him. 

Adler  would  not  sit  down  until  Bennett  had  twice 
ordered  him  to  do  so,  and  then  he  deposited  himself 
in  a  nearby  chair,  in  as  uncomfortable  a  position  as 
he  could  devise,  allowing  only  the  smallest  fraction 
of  his  body  to  be  supported  as  a  mark  of  deference. 
He  remained  uncovered,  and  from  time  to  time 
nervously  saluted.  But  suddenly  he  remembered 
the  object  of  his  visit. 

"  Oh,  but  I  forgot — seeing  you  like  this,  unex- 
pected, sir,  clean  drove  Mr.  Ferriss  out  of  my  mind. 
How  is  he  getting  on  ?  I  saw  in  the  papers  he  was 
main  sick." 

"  He's  dead,"  said  Bennett  quietly. 

Adler  was  for  the  moment  stricken  speechless. 
His  jaw  dropped ;  he  stared,  and  caught  his  breath. 

"  Mr.  Ferriss  dead  !  "  he  exclaimed  at  length.  "  I 
— I  can't  believe  it."  He  crossed  himself  rapidly. 
Bennett  made  no  reply,  and  for  upward  of  five 
minutes  the  two  men  sat  motionless  in  the  chairs, 
looking  off  into  the  night.  After  a.  while  Adler 
broke  silence  and  asked  a  few  questions  as  to  Fer- 
riss's  sickness  and  the  nature  and  time  of  his  death 
— questions  which  Bennett  answered  as  best  he 
might.  But  it  was  evident  that  Bennett,  alive  and 


A  Man's  Woman 

present  there  in  the  flesh,  was  more  to  Adler  than 
Ferriss  dead. 

"  But  you're  all  right,  sir,  ain't  you  ?  "  he  asked 
at  length.  "  There  ain't  anything  the  matter  with 
you  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Bennett,  looking  at  him  steadily ;  then 
suddenly  he  added : 

"  Adler,  I  was  to  blame  for  Mr.  Ferriss's  death. 
If  it  hadn't  been  for  me  he  would  probably  have 
been  alive  to-night.  It  was  my  fault.  I  did  what 
I  thought  was  right,  when  I  knew  all  the  time,  just 
as  I  know  now,  that  I  was  wrong.  So,  when  any 
one  asks  you  about  Mr.  Ferriss's  death  you  are  to 
tell  him  just  what  you  know  about  it — understand? 
Through  a  mistake  I  was  responsible  for  his  death. 
I  shall  not  tell  you  more  than  that,  but  that  much 
you  ought  to  know." 

Adler  looked  at  Bennett  curiously  and  with  infi- 
nite amazement.  The  order  of  his  universe  was 
breaking  up  about  his  ears.  Bennett,  the  inscruta- 
ble, who  performed  his  wonders  in  a  mystery,  im- 
penetrable to  common  eyes,  who  moved  with  his 
head  in  the  clouds,  behold  !  he  was  rendering  account 
to  him,  Adler,  the  meanest  of  his  subjects — the  king 
was  condescending  to  the  vassal,  was  admitting  him 
to  his  confidence.  And  what  was  this  thing  he  was 
saying,  that  he  was  responsible  for  Ferriss's  death? 
Adler  did  not  understand ;  his  wits  could  not  adjust 
themselves  to  such  information.  Ferriss  was  dead, 
but  how  was  Bennett  to  blame?  The  king  could 
do  no  wrong.  Adler  did  not  understand.  No 
doubt  Bennett  was  referring  to  something  that  had 
happened  during  the  retreat  over  the  ice — some- 
203 


A  Man's  Woman 

thing  that  had  to  be  done,  and  that  in  the  end,  and 
after  all  this  lapse  of  time,  had  brought  about  Mr. 
Ferriss's  death.  In  any  case  Bennett  had  done  what 
was  right.  For  that  matter  he  had  been  responsible 
for  McPherson's  death;  but  what  else  had  there 
been  to  do  ? 

Bennett  had  spoken  as  he  did  after  a  moment's 
rapid  thinking.  To  Adler's  questions  as  to  the 
manner  of  the  chief  engineer's  death  Bennett  had 
at  first  given  evasive  replies.  But  a  sudden  sense 
of  shame  at  being  compelled  to  dissemble  before  a 
subordinate  had  lashed  him  across  the  face.  True, 
he  had  made  a  mistake — a  fearful,  unspeakable  mis- 
take— but  at  least  let  him  be  man  enough  to  face 
and  to  accept  its  consequences.  It  might  not 
be  necessary  or  even  expedient  to  make  acknowl- 
edgment of  his  folly  in  all  quarters,  but  at  that  mo- 
ment it  seemed  to  him  that  his  men — at  least  one 
of  them — who  had  been  under  the  command  of  him- 
self and  his  friend,  had  a  right  to  be  told  the  truth.  It 
had  been  only  one  degree  less  distasteful  to  unde- 
ceive Adler  than  it  had  been  to  deceive  him  in  the 
first  place.  Bennett  was  not  the  general  to  explain 
his  actions  to  his  men.  But  he  had  not  hesitated  a 
moment. 

However,  Adler  was  full  of  another  subject,  and 
soon  broke  out  with : 

"  You  know,  sir,  there's  another  expedition  form- 
ing1; I  suppose  you  have  heard — an  English  one. 
They  call  it  the  Duane-Parsons  expedition.  They 
are  going  to  try  the  old  route  by  Smith  Sound. 
They  are  going  to  winter  at  Tasiusak,  and  try  to  get 
through  the  sound  as  soon  as  the  ice  breaks  up  in 
204 


A  Man's  Woman 

the  spring.  But  Duane's  ideas  are  all  wrong.  He'll 
make  no  very  high  northing,  not  above  eighty-five. 
I'll  bet  a  hat.  When  we  go  up  again,  sir,  will  you — 
will  you  let  me — will  you  take  me  along?  Did  I 
give  satisfaction  this  last " 

"  I'm  never  going  up  again,  Adler,"  answered 
Bennett. 

"  Sho !  "  said  Adler  a  little  blankly.  "  I  thought 
sure — I  never  thought  that  you — why,  there  ain't  no 
one  else  but  you  can  do  it,  captain." 

"  Oh,  yes,  there  is,"  said  Bennett  listlessly. 
"  Duane  can — if  he  has  luck.  I  know  him.  He's 
a  good  man.  No,  I'm  out  of  it,  Adler;  I  had  my 
chance.  It  is  somebody  else's  turn  now.  Do  you 
want  to  go  with  Duane?  I  can  give  you  letters 
to  him.  He'd  be  glad  to  have  you,  I  know." 

Adler  started  from  his  place. 

"  Why,  do  you  think — "  he  exclaimed  vehe- 
mently— "  do  you  think  I'd  go  with  anybody  else 
but  you,  sir?  Oh,  you  will  be  going  some  of 
these  days,  I'm  sure  of  it.  We — we'll  have  another 
try  at  it,  sir,  before  we  die.  We  ain't  beaten 
yet." 

"  Yes,  we  are,  Adler,"  returned  Bennett,  smiling 
calmly ;  "  we'll  stay  at  home  now  and  write  our 
book.  But  we'll  let  some  one  else  reach  the  Pole. 
That's  not  for  us — never  will  be,  Adler." 

At  the  end  of  their  talk  some  half -hour  later 
Adler  stood  up,  remarking: 

"  Guess  I'd  better  be  standing  by  if  I'm  to  get 
the  last  train  back  to  the  City  to-night.  They  told 
me  at  the  station  that  she'd  clear  about  midnight." 
Suddenly  he  began  to  show  signs  of  uneasiness, 


A  Man's  Woman 

turning  his  cap  about  between  his  fingers,  changing 
his  weight  from  foot  to  foot.  Then  at  length : 

"  You  wouldn't  be  wanting  a  man  about  the  place, 
would  you,  sir  ?  "  And  before  Bennett  could  reply 
he  continued  eagerly,  "  I've  been  a  bit  of  most  trades 
in  my  time,  and  I  know  how  to  take  care  of  a  garden 
like  as  you  have  here;  I'm  a  main  good  hand  with 
plants  and  flower  things,  and  I  could  help  around 
generally."  Then,  earnestly,  "  Let  me  stay,  sir — 
it  won't  cost — I  wouldn't  think  of  taking  a  cent 
from  you,  captain.  Just  let  me  act  as  your  orderly 
for  a  spell,  sir.  I'd  sure  give  satisfaction ;  will  you, 
sir — will  you  ?  " 

"  Nonsense,  Adler,"  returned  Bennett ;  "  stay,  if 
you  like.  I  presume  I  can  find  use  for  you.  But 
you  must  be  paid,  of  course." 

"  Not  a  soomarkee,"  protested  the  other  almost 
indignantly. 

The  next  day  Adler  brought  his  chest  down  from 
the  City  and  took  up  his  quarters  with  Bennett  at 
Medford.  Though  Dr.  Pitts  had  long  since  ceased 
to  keep  horses,  the  stable  still  adjoined  the  house, 
and  Adler  swung  his  hammock  in  the  coachman's 
old  room.  Bennett  could  not  induce  him  to  room 
in  the  house  itself.  Adler  prided  himself  that  he 
knew  his  place.  After  their  first  evening's  conver- 
sation he  never  spoke  to  Bennett  until  spoken  to 
first,  and  the  resumed  relationship  of  commander 
and  subordinate  was  inexpressibly  dear  to  him.  It 
was  something  to  see  Adler  waiting  on  the  table 
in  the  "  glass-room  "  in  his  blue  jersey,  standing  at 
attention  at  the  door,  happy  in  the  mere  sight  of 
Bennett  at  his  meals.  In  the  mornings,  as  soon  as 
206 


A  Man's  Woman 

breakfast  was  ready,  it  was  Adler's  privilege  to  an- 
nounce the  fact  to  Bennett,  whom  he  usually  found 
already  at  work  upon  his  writing.  Returning 
thence  to  the  dining-room,  Adler  waited  for  his 
lord  to  appear.  As  soon  as  he  heard  Bennett's  step 
in  the  hall  a  little  tremor  of  excitement  possessed 
him.  He  ran  to  Bennett's  chair,  drawing  it  back 
for  him,  and  as  soon  as  Bennett  had  seated  himself 
circled  about  him  with  all  the  pride  and  solicitude 
of  a  motherly  hen.  He  opened  his  napkin  for  him, 
delivered  him  his  paper,  and  pushed  his  cup  of  coffee 
a  half-inch  nearer  his  hand.  Throughout  the  dura- 
tion of  the  meal  he  hardly  took  his  eyes  from  Ben- 
nett's face,  watching  his  every  movement  with  a 
glow  of  pride,  his  hands  gently  stroking  one  another 
in  an  excess  of  satisfaction  and  silent  enjoyment. 

The  days  passed;  soon  a  fortnight  was  gone  by. 
Drearily,  mechanically,  Bennett  had  begun  work 
upon  his  book,  the  narrative  of  the  expedition.  It 
was  repugnant  to  him.  Long  since  he  had  lost  all 
interest  in  polar  exploration.  As  he  had  said  to 
Adler,  he  was  out  of  it,  finally  and  irrevocably.  His 
bolt  was  shot ;  his  role  upon  the  stage  of  the  world 
was  ended.  He  only  desired  now  to  be  forgotten 
as  quickly  as  possible,  to  lapse  into  mediocrity  as 
easily  and  quietly  as  he  could.  Fame  was  nothing 
to  him  now.  The  thundering  applause  of  an  entire 
world  that  had  once  been  his  was  mere  noise,  empty 
and  meaningless.  He  did  not  care  to  reawaken  it. 
The  appearance  of  his  book  he  knew  was  expected 
and  waited  for  in  every  civilised  nation  of  the  globe. 
It  would  be  printed  in  languages  whereof  he  was 
ignorant,  but  it  was  all  one  with  him  now. 
207 


A  Man's  Woman 

The  task  of  writing  was  hateful  to  him  beyond 
expression,  but  with  such  determination  as  he  could 
yet  summon  to  his  aid  Bennett  stuck  to  it,  eight, 
ten,  and  sometimes  fourteen  hours  each  day.  In  a 
way  his  narrative  was  an  atonement.  Ferriss  was 
its  hero.  Almost  instinctively  Bennett  kept  the 
figure  of  himself,  his  own  achievements,  his  own 
plans  and  ideas,  in  the  background.  On  more  than 
one  page  he  deliberately  ascribed  to  Ferriss  tri- 
umphs which  no  one  but  himself  had  attained.  It 
was  Ferriss  who  was  the  leader,  the  victor  to  whom 
all  laurels  were  due.  It  was  Ferriss  whose  example 
had  stimulated  the  expedition  to  its  best  efforts  in 
the  darkest  hours ;  it  was,  practically,  Ferriss  who 
had  saved  the  party  after  the  destruction  of  the  ship ; 
whose  determination,  unbroken  courage,  endurance, 
and  intelligence  had  pervaded  all  minds  and  hearts 
during  the  retreat  to  Kolyuchin  Bay. 

"  Though  nominally  in  command,"  wrote  Ben- 
nett, "  I  continually  gave  place  to  him.  Without 
his  leadership  we  should  all,  unquestionably,  have 
perished  before  even  reaching  land.  His  resolution 
to  conquer,  at  whatever  cost,  was  an  inspiration  to 
us  all.  Where  he  showed  the  way  we  had  to  follow ; 
his  courage  was  never  daunted,  his  hope  was  never 
dimmed,  his  foresight,  his  intelligence,  his  ingenuity 
in  meeting  and  dealing  with  apparently  unsolvable 
problems  were  nothing  short  of  marvellous.  His 
was  the  genius  of  leadership.  He  was  the  explorer, 
born  to  his  work." 

One  day,  just  after  luncheon,  as  Bennett,  accord- 
ing to  his  custom,  was  walking  in  the  garden  bv  the 
house,  smoking  a  cigar  before  returning  to  his  work, 
208 


A  Man's  Woman 

he  was  surprised  to  find  himself  bleeding  at  the  nose. 
It  was  but  a  trifling  matter,  and  passed  off  in  a  few 
moments,  but  the  fact  of  its  occurrence  directed  his 
attention  to  the  state  of  his  health,  and  he  told  him- 
self that  for  the  last  few  days  he  had  not  been  at  all 
his  accustomed  self.  There  had  been  dull  pains  in 
his  back  and  legs ;  more  than  once  his  head  had 
pained  him,  and  of  late  the  continuance  of  his  work 
had  been  growing  steadily  more  obnoxious  to  him, 
the  very  physical  effort  of  driving  the  pen  from  line 
to  line  was  a  burden. 

"  Hum !  "  he  said  to  himself  later  on  in  the  '.lay, 
when  the  bleeding  at  the  nose  returned  upon  him, 
"  I  think  we  need  a  little  quinine." 

But  the  next  day  he  found  he  could  not  eat,  and 
all  the  afternoon,  though  he  held  doggedly  to  his 
work,  he  was  troubled  with  nausea.  At  times  a 
great  weakness,  a  relaxing  of  all  the  muscles,  came 
over  him.  In  the  evening  he  sent  a  note  to  Dr. 
Pitts's  address  in  the  City,  asking  him  to  come  down 
to  Medford  the  next  day. 


On  the  Monday  morning  of  the  following  week, 
some  two  hours  after  breakfast,  Lloyd  met  Miss 
Douglass  on  the  stairs,  dressed  for  the  street  and 
carrying  her  nurse's  bag. 

"Are  you  going  out?"  she  asked  of  the  fever 
nurse  in  some  astonishment.  "  Where  are  you  go- 
ing? "  for  Lloyd  had  returned  to  duty,  and  it  was 
her  name  that  now  stood  at  the  top  of  the  list ;  "  I 
thought  it  was  my  turn  to  ero  out,"  she  added. 

Miss  Douglass  was  evidently  much  confused. 
14  209 


A  Man's  Woman 

Her  meeting  with  Lloyd  had  apparently  been  unex- 
pected. She  halted  upon  the  stairs  in  great  em- 
barrassment, stammering : 

"  No — no,  I'm  on  call.  I — I  was  called  out  of 
my  turn — specially  called — that  was  it." 

"  Were  you  ?  "  demanded  Lloyd  sharply,  for  the 
other  nurse  was  disturbed  to  an'  extraordinary  de- 
gree. 

"  Well,  then ;  no,  I  wasn't,  but  the  superintendent 
— Miss  Bergyn — she  thought — she  advised — you 
had  better  see  her." 

"  I  will  see  her,"  declared  Lloyd,  "  but  don't  you 
go  till  I  find  out  why  I  was  skipped." 

Lloyd  hurried  at  once  to  Miss  Bergyn's  room, 
indignant  at  this  slight.  Surely,  after  what  had 
happened,  she  was  entitled  to  more  consideration 
than  this.  Of  all  the  staff  in  the  house  she  should 
have  been  the  one  to  be  preferred. 

Miss  Bergyn  rose  at  Lloyd's  sudden  entrance 
into  her  room,  and  to  her  question  responded : 

"  It  was  only  because  I  wanted  to  spare  you 
further  trouble  and — and  embarrassment,  Lloyd, 
that  I  told  Miss  Douglass  to  take  your  place.  This 
call  is  from  Medford.  Dr.  Pitts  was  here  himself 
this  morning,  and  he  thought  as  I  did." 

"  Thought  what  ?     I  don't  understand." 

"  It  seemed  to  me,"  answered  the  superintendent 
nurse,  "  that  this  one  case  of  all  others  would  be  the 
hardest,  the  most  disagreeable  for  vou  to  take.  It 
seems  that  Mr.  Bennett  has  leased  Dr.  Pitts's  house 
from  him.  He  is  there  now.  At  the  time  when 
Mr.  Frrriss  was  betrinnino-  to  be  ill  Mr.  Bennett 
was  with  him  a  great  deal  and  undertook  to  nurse 
210 


A  Man's  Woman 

him  till  Dr.  Pitts  interfered  and  put  a  professional 
nurse  on  the  case.  Since  then,  too,  the  doctor  has 
found  out  that  Mr.  Bennett  has  exposed  himself  im- 
prudently. At  any  rate,  in  some  way  he  has  con- 
tracted the  same  disease  and  is  rather  seriously 
ill  with  it.  Dr.  Pitts  wants  us  to  send  him  a  nurse 
at  once.  It  just  happened  that  it  was  your  turn, 
and  I  thought  I  had  better  skip  your  name  and  send 
Louise  Douglass." 

Lloyd  sank  into  a  chair,  her  hands  falling  limply 
in  her  lap.  A  frown  of  perplexity  gathered  on  her 
forehead.  But  suddenly  she  exclaimed: 

"  I  know — that's  all  as  it  may  be ;  but  all  the  staff 
know  that  it  is  my  turn  to  go ;  everybody  in  the 
house  knows  who  is  on  call.  How  will  it  be — 
what  will  be  thought  when  it  is  known  that  I  haven't 
gone — and  after — after  my  failing  once — after  this 
— this  other  affair  ?  No,  I  must  go.  I,  of  all  people, 
must  go — and  just  because  it  is  a  typhoid  case,  like 
the  other." 

"  But,  Lloyd,  how  can  you?" 

True,  how  could  she  ?  Her  patient  would  be  the 
same  man  who  had  humiliated  her  and  broken  her, 
had  so  cruelly  misunderstood  and  wronged  her,  for 
whom  all  her  love  was  dead.  How  could  she  face 
him  again  ?  Yet  how  refuse  to  take  the  case  ?  How 
explain  a  second  failure  to  her  companions  ?  Lloyd 
made  a  little  movement  of  distress,  clasping  her 
hands  together.  How  the  complications  followed 
fast  upon  each  other !  No  sooner  was  one  difficult 
situation  met  and  disposed  of  than  another  pre- 
sented itself.  Bennett  was  nothing  to  her  now,  yet, 
for  all  that,  she  recoiled  instinctively  from  meeting 


A  Man's  Woman 

him  again.  Not  only  must  she  meet  him,  but  she 
must  be  with  him  day  after  day,  hour  after  hour, 
at  his  very  side,  in  all  the  intimacy  that  the  sick- 
room involved.  On  the  other  hand,  how  could  she 
decline  this  case?  The  staff  might  condone  one 
apparent  and  inexplicable  defection ;  another  would 
certainly  not  be  overlooked.  But  was  not  this  new 
situation  a  happy  and  unlooked-for  opportunity  to 
vindicate  her  impaired  prestige  in  the  eyes  of  her 
companions?  Lloyd  made  up  her  mind  upon  the 
instant.  She  rose. 

"  I  shall  take  the  case,"  she  said. 

She  was  not  a  little  surprised  at  herself.  Hardly 
an  instant  had  she  hesitated.  On  that  other  occa- 
sion when  she  had  believed  it  right  to  make  confes- 
sion to  her  associates  it  had  been  hard — at  times 
almost  impossible — for  her  to  do  her  duty  as  she  saw 
and  understood  it.  This  new  complication  was 
scarcely  less  difficult,  but  once  having  attained  the 
fine,  moral  rigour  that  had  carried  her  through  her 
former  ordeal,  it  became  easy  now  to  do  right  under 
all  or  any  circumstances,  however  adverse.  If  she 
had  failed  then,  she  certainly  would  have  failed  now. 
That  she  had  succeeded  then  made  it  all  the  easier 
to  succeed  now.  Dimly  Lloyd  commenced  to 
understand  that  the  mastery  of  self,  the  steady,  firm 
control  of  natural,  intuitive  impulses,  selfish  because 
natural,  was  a  progression.  Each  victory  not  only 
gained  the  immediate  end  in  view,  but  braced  the 
mind  and  increased  the  force  of  will  for  the  next 
shock,  the  next  struggle.  She  had  imagined  and 
had  told  herself  that  Bennett  had  broken  her 
strength  for  good.  But  was  it  really  so  ?  Had  not 

212 


A  Man's  Woman 

defeat  in  that  case  been  only  temporary?  Was  she 
not  slowly  getting  back  her  strength  by  an  unflinch- 
ing adherence  to  the  simple,  fundamental  principles 
of  right,  and  duty,  and  truth?  Was  not  the  strug- 
gle with  one's  self  the  greatest  fight  of  all,  greater, 
far  greater,  than  had  been  the  conflict  between  Ben- 
nett's will  and  her  own  ? 

Within  the  hour  she  found  herself  once  again  on 
her  way  to  Medford.  How  much  had  happened, 
through  what  changes  had  she  passed  since  the 
occasion  of  her  first  journey ;  and  Bennett,  how  he, 
too,  changed;  how  different  he  had  come  to  stand 
in  her  estimation !  Once  the  thought  that  he  was 
in  danger  had  been  a  constant  terror  to  her,  and 
haunted  her  days  and  lurked  at  her  side  through 
many  a  waking  night.  Was  it  possible  that  now 
his  life  or  death  was  no  more  to  her  than  that  of 
any  of  her  former  patients  ?  She  could  not  say ;  she 
avoided  answering  the  question.  Certainly  her 
heart  beat  no  faster  at  this  moment  to  know  that  he 
was  in  the  grip  of  a  perilous  disease.  She  told  her- 
self that  her  Bennett  was  dead  already;  that  she 
was  coming  back  to  Medford  not  to  care  for  and 
watch  over  the  individual,  but  to  combat  the  dis- 
ease. 

When  she  arrived  at  the  doctor's  house  in  Med- 
ford, a  strange-looking  man  opened  the  door  for  her, 
and  asked  immediately  if  she  was  the  nurse. 

"  Yes,"  said  Lloyd,  "  I  am.     Is  Dr.  Pitts  here?  " 

"  Upstairs  in  his  room,"  answered  the  other  in  a 

whisper,  closing  the  front  door  with  infinite  softness. 

"He  won't  let  me  go  in,  the  doctor  won't;  I — I 

ain't  seen  him  in  four  days.     Ask  the  doctor  if  I 

213 


A  Man's  Woman 

can't  just  have  a  blink  at  him — just  a  little  blink 
through  the  crack  of  the  door.  Just  think,  Miss,  I 
ain't  seen  him  in  four  days !  Just  think  of  that ! 
Arid  look  here,  they  ain't  giving  him  enough  to  eat 
— nothing  but  milk  and  chicken  soup  with  rice  in  it. 
He  never  did  like  rice ;  that's  no  kind  of  rations  for 
a  sick  man.  I  fixed  him  up  a  bit  of  duff  yesterday, 
what  he  used  to  like  so  much  aboard  ship,  and  Pitts 
wouldn't  let  him  have  it.  He  regularly  laughed  in 
my  face." 

Lloyd  sent  word  to  the  doctor  by  the  housekeeper 
that  she  had  arrived,  and  on  going  up  found  Pitts 
waiting  for  her  at  the  door  of  the  sick-room,  not 
that  which  had  been  occupied  by  Ferriss,  but 
another — the  guest-chamber  of  the  house,  situated 
toward  the  rear  of  the  building. 

"  Why,  I  expected  Miss  Douglass !  "  exclaimed 
the  doctor  in  a  low  voice  as  soon  as  his  eye  fell  upon 
Lloyd.  "  Any  one  of  them  but  you !  " 

"  I  had  to  come,"  Lloyd  answered  quietly,  flush- 
ing hotly  for  all  that.  "  It  was  my  turn,  and  it  was 
not  right  for  me  to  stay  away." 

The  doctor  hesitated  an  instant,  and  then  dis- 
missed the  subject,  putting  his  chin  in  the  air  as  if 
to  say  that,  after  all,  it  was  not  his  affair. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  it's  queer  to  see  how  things 
will  tangle  themselves  sometimes.  I  don't  know 
whether  he  took  this  thing  from  Ferriss  or  not. 
Both  of  them  were  exposed  to  the  same  conditions 
when  their  expedition  went  to  pieces  and  they  were 
taken  off  by  the  whaling  ships — bad  water,  weak- 
ened constitution,  not  much  power  of  resistance ;  in 
prime  condition  for  the  bacillus,  and  the  same  cause 
214 


A  Man's  Woman 

might  have  produced  the  same  effect;  at  any  rate, 
he's  in  a  bad  way." 

"  Is  he — very  bad  ?  "  asked  Lloyd. 

"  Well,  he's  not  the  hang-on  sort  that  Mr.  Ferriss 
was ;  nothing  undecided  about  Captain  Ward  Ben- 
nett ;  when  he's  sick,  he's  sick ;  rushes  right  at  it  like 
a  blind  bull.  He's  as  bad  now  as  Mr.  Ferriss  was  in 
his  third  week." 

"  Do  you  think  he  will  recognise  me?  " 

The  doctor  shook  his  head.  "  No ;  delirious  most 
of  the  time — of  course — regulation  thing.  If  we 
don't  keep  the  fever  down  he'll  go  out  sure.  That's 
the  danger  in  his  case.  Look  at  him  yourself ;  here 
he  is.  The  devil !  The  animal  is  sitting  up  again." 

As  Lloyd  entered  the  room  she  saw  Bennett  sit- 
ting bolt  upright  in  his  bed,  staring  straight  before 
him,  his  small  eyes,  with  their  deforming  cast,  open 
to  their  fullest  extent,  the  fingers  of  his  shrunken, 
bony  hands  dancing  nervously  on  the  coverlet.  A 
week's  growth  of  stubble  blackened  the  lower  part 
of  his  face.  Without  a  moment's  pause  he  mum- 
bled and  muttered  with  astonishing  rapidity,  but  for 
the  most  part  the  words  were  undistinguishable.  It 
was,  indeed,  not  the  same  Bennett,  Lloyd  had  last 
seen.  The  great  body  was  collapsed  upon  itself; 
the  skin  of  the  face  was  like  dry,  brown  parchment, 
and  behind  it  the  big,  massive  bones  stood  out  in 
great  knobs  and  ridges.  It  needed  but  a  glance  to 
know  that  here  was  a  man  dangerously  near  to  his 
death.  While  Lloyd  was  removing  her  hat  and 
preparing  herself  for  her  work  the  doctor  p-ot  Ben- 
nett upon  his  back  again  and  replenished  the  ice- 
pack about  his  head. 

215 


A  Man's  Woman 

"  Not  much  strength  left  in  our  friend  now,"  he 
murmured. 

"  How  long  has  he  been  like  this  ?  "  asked  Lloyd 
as  she  arranged  the  contents  of  her  nurse's  bag  on  a 
table  near  the  window. 

"  Pretty  close  to  eight  hours  now.  He  was  con- 
scious yesterday  morning,  however,  for  a  little 
while,  and  wanted  to  know  what  his  chances  were." 

They  were  neither  good  nor  many;  the  strength 
once  so  formidable  was  ebbing  away  like  a  refluent 
tide,  and  that  with  ominous  swiftness.  Stimulate 
the  life  as  the  doctor  would,  strive  against  the 
enemy's  advance  as  Lloyd  might,  Bennett  continued 
to  sink. 

"  The  devil  of  it  is,"  muttered  the  doctor,  "  that 
he  don't  seem  to  care.  He  had  as  soon  give  up  as 
not.  It's  hard  to  save  a  patient  that  don't  want  to 
save  himself.  If  he'd  fight  for  his  life  as  he  did  in 
the  arctic,  we  could  pull  him  through  yet.  Other- 
wise  "  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  almost  help- 
lessly. 

The  next  night  toward  nine  o'clock  Lloyd  took 
the  doctor's  place  at  their  patient's  bedside,  and 
Pitts,  without  taking  off  his  clothes,  stretched  him- 
self out  upon  the  sofa  in  one  of  the  rooms  on  the 
lower  floor  of  the  house,  with  the  understanding 
that  the  nurse  was  to  call  him  in  case  of  any  change. 

But  as  the  doctor  was  groping  his  way  down  the 
darkened  stairway  he  stumbled  against  Adler  and 
Kamiska.  Adler  was  sitting  on  one  of  the  steps, 
and  the  dog  was  on  her  haunches  close  at  his  side; 
the  two  were  huddled  together  there  in  the  dark, 
broad  awake,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  waiting,  watch- 
216 


A  Man's  Woman 

ing,  and  listening  for  the  faint  sounds  that  came  at 
long  intervals  from  the  direction  of  the  room  where 
Bennett  lay. 

As  the  physician  passed  him  Adler  stood  up  and 
saluted : 

"  Is  he  doing  any  better  now,  sir?  "  he  whispered. 

"  Nothing  new,"  returned  the  other  brusquely. 
"  He  may  get  well  in  three  weeks'  time  or  he  may 
die  before  midnight;  so  there  you  are.  You  know 
as  much  about  it  as  I  do.  Damn  that  dog !  " 

He  trod  upon  Kamiska,  who  forbore  heroically 
to  yelp,  and  went  on  his  way.  Adler  resumed  his 
place  on  the  stairs,  sitting  down  gingerly,  so  that 
the  boards  should  not  creak  under  his  weight.  He 
took  Kamiska's  head  between  his  hands  and  rocked 
himself  gently  to  and  fro. 

"  What  are  we  going  to  do,  little  dog?  "  he  whis- 
pered. "  What  are  we  going  to  do  if — if  our  cap- 
tain should — if  he  shouldn't "  he  had  no  words 

to  finish.  Kamiska  took  her  place  again  by  his  side, 
and  the  two  resumed  their  vigil. 

Meanwhile,  not  fifty  feet  away,  a  low  voice, 
monotonous  and  rapid,  was  keeping  up  a  contin- 
uous, murmuring  flow  of  words. 

"  That's  well  your  number  two  sledge.  All 
hands  on  the  McClintock  now.  You've  got  to  do 
it,  men.  Forward,  get  forward,  get  forward ;  get 
on  to  the  south,  always  to  the  south — south,  south, 
south !  .  .  .  There,  there's  the  ice  again.  That's 
the  biggest  ridge  yet.  At  it  now !  Smash  through  ; 
I'll  break  you  yet ;  believe  me,  I  will !  There,  we 
broke  it !  I  knew  you  could,  men.  I'll  pull  vou 
through.  Now,  then,  h'up  your  other  sledge.  For- 
217 


A  Man's  Woman 

ward!  There  will  be  double  rations  to-night  all 
round — no — half-rations,  quarter-rations 
No,  three-fifths  of  an  ounce  of  dog-meat  and  a 
spoonful  of  alcohol — that's  all;  that's  all,  men. 
Pretty  cold  night,  this — minus  thirty-eight.  Only 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  covered  to-day.  Everybody 
suffering  in  their  feet,  and  so  weak — and  starving — 
and  freezing."  All  at  once  the  voice  became  a  wail. 
"  My  God !  is  it  never  going  to  end  ?  .  .  .  Sh — h, 
steady,  what  was  that?  Who  whimpered?  Was 
that  Ward  Bennett?  No  whimpering,  whatever 
comes.  Stick  it  out  like  men,  anyway.  Fight  it 
out  till  we  drop,  but  no  whimpering.  .  .  .  Who 
said  there  were  steam  whalers  off  the  floe?  That's 
a  lie !  Forward,  forward,  get  forward  to  the  south 
— no,  not  the  south;  to  the  north,  to  the  north! 
We'll  reach  it,  we'll  succeed ;  we're  most  there,  men ; 
come  on,  come  on !  I  tell  you  this  time  we'll  reach 
it ;  one  more  effort,  men !  We're  most  there ! 
What's  the  latitude?  Eighty-five-twenty — eighty- 
six."  The  voice  began  to  grow  louder :  "  Come 
on,  men ;  we're  most  there !  Eighty-seven — eighty- 
eight — eighty-nine-twenty-five !  "  He  rose  to  a  sit- 
ting position.  "  Eighty-nine-thirty — eighty-nine- 
forty-five."  Suddenly  the  voice  rose  to  a  shout. 
"  Ninety  degrees  !  By  God,  it's  the  Pole  !  " 

The  voice  died  away  to  indistinct  mutterings. 

Lloyd  was  at  the  bedside  by  now,  and  quietly 
pressed  Bennett  down  upon  his  back.  But  as  she 
did  so  a  thrill  of  infinite  pity  and  compassion  quiv- 
ered through  her.  She  had  forced  him  down  so 
easily.  He  was  so  pitifully  weak.  Woman  though 
she  was,  she  could,  with  one  small  hand  upon  his 
218 


A  Man's  Woman 

breast,  control  this  man  who  at  one  time  had  been 
of  such  colossal  strength — such  vast  physical  force. 

Suddenly  Bennett  began  again.  "  Where's  Fer- 
riss?  Where's  Richard  Ferriss?  Where's  the  chief 
engineer  of  the  Freja  Arctic  Exploring  Expedi- 
tion ?  " 

He  fell  silent  again,  and  but  for  the  twitching, 
dancing  hands,  lay  quiet.  Then  he  cried : 

"  Attention  to  the  roll-call !  " 

Rapidly  and  in  a  low  voice  he  began  calling  off 
the  muster  of  the  Freja's  men  and  officers,  giving 
the  answers  himself. 

"  Adler — here ;  Blair — here ;  Dahl — here ;  Fish- 
baugh — here ;  Hawes — here ;  McPherson — here  ; 
Muck  Tu — here ;  Woodward — here ;  Captain  Ward 
Bennett — here ;  Dr.  Sheridan  Dennison — here ; 

Chief  Engineer  Richard  Ferriss "  no  answer. 

Bennett  waited  for  a  moment,  then  repeated  the 

name,  "  Chief  Engineer  Richard  Ferriss " 

Again  he  was  silent;  but  after  a  few  seconds  he 
called  aloud  in  agony  of  anxiety,  "  Chief  Engineer 
Richard  Ferriss,  answer  to  the  roll-call !  " 

Then  once  more  he  began ;  his  disordered  wits 
calling  to  mind  a  different  order  of  things : 

"  Adler — here ;  Blair — died  from  exhaustion  at 
Point  Kane;  Dahl — here;  Fishbaugh — starved  to 
death  on  the  march  to  Kolyuchin  Bay ;  Hawes — 
died  of  arctic  fever  at  Cape  Kammeni ;  McPherson 
— unable  to  keep  up,  and  abandoned  at  ninth  camp ; 
Muck  Tu — here ;  Woodward — died  from  starvation 
at  twelfth  camp ;  Dr.  Sheridan  Dennison — frozen  to 
death  at  Kolyuchin  Bay;  Chief  Engineer  Richard 
Ferriss — died  by  the  act  of  his  best  friend,  Captain 
219 


A  Man's  Woman 

Ward  Bennett !  "  Again  and  again  Bennett  re- 
peated this  phrase,  calling :  "  Richard  Ferriss ! 
Richard  Ferriss !  "  and  immediately  adding  in  a 
broken  voice :  "  Died  by  the  act  of  his  best  friend, 
Captain  Ward  Bennett."  Or  at  times  it  was  only 
•the  absence  of  Ferriss  that  seemed  to  torture  him. 
He  would  call  the  roll,  answering  "  here  "  to  each 
name  until  he  reached  Ferriss ;  then  he  would  not 
respond,  but  instead  would  cry  aloud  over  and 
over  again,  in  accents  of  the  bitterest  grief,  "  Rich- 
ard Ferriss,  answer  to  the  roll-call ;  Richard  Ferriss, 

answer  to  the  roll-call "  Then  suddenly,  with 

a  feeble,  quavering  cry,  "  For  God's  sake,  Dick, 
answer  to  the  roll-call !  " 

The  hours  passed.  Ten  o'clock  struck,  then 
eleven.  At  midnight  Lloyd  took  the  temperature 
(which  had  decreased  considerably)  and  the  pulse, 
and  refilled  the  ice-pack  about  the  head.  Bennett 
was  still  muttering  in  the  throes  of  delirium,  still 
calling  for  Ferriss,  imploring  him  to  answer  to  the 
roll-call ;  or  repeating  the  words :  "  Dick  Ferriss, 
chief  engineer — died  at  the  hands  of  his  best  friend, 
Ward  Bennett,"  in  tones  so  pitiful,  so  heart-broken 
that  more  than  once  Lloyd  felt  the  tears  running 
down  her  cheeks. 

"  Richard  Ferriss,  Richard  Ferriss,  answer  to  the 
roll-call ;  Dick,  old  man,  won't  you  answer,  won't 
you  answer,  old  chap,  when  I  call  you?  Won't  you 
come  back  and  say  '  It's  all  right?'  Ferriss,  Fer- 
riss, answer  to  my  roll-call.  .  .  .  Died  at  the 
hands  of  his  best  friend.  ...  At  Kolyuchin 
Bay.  .  .  .  Killed,  and  I  did  it.  ...  For- 
ward, men ;  you've  got  to  do  it ;  snowing  to-day  and 

820 


A  Man's  Woman 

all  the  ice  in  motion.  .  .  .  H'up  y'r  other  sledge. 
Come  on  with  y'r  number  four;  more  pressure- 
ridges,  I'll  break  you  yet!  Come  on  with  y'r 
number  four!  .  .  .  Lloyd  Searight,  what  are 
you  doing  in  this  room  ?  " 

On  the  instant  the  voice  had  changed  from  con- 
fused mutterings  to  distinct,  clear-cut  words.  The 
transition  was  so  sudden  tiiat  Lloyd,  at  the  moment 
busy  at  her  nurse's  bag,  her  back  to  the  bed,  wheeled 
sharply  about  to  find  Bennett  sitting  bolt  upright, 
looking  straight  at  her  with  intelligent,  wide-open 
eyes.  Lloyd's  heart  for  an  instant  stood  still,  al- 
most in  terror.  This  sudden  leap  back  from  the 
darkness  of  delirium  into  the  daylight  of  conscious- 
ness was  almost  like  a  rising  from  the  dead,  ghost- 
like, appalling.  She  caught  her  breath,  trembling 
in  spite  of  her  best  efforts,  and  for  an  instant  leaned 
a  hand  upon  the  table  behind  her. 

But  on  Bennett's  face,  ghastly,  ravaged  by  dis- 
ease, with  its  vast,  protruding  jaw,  its  narrow,  con- 
tracted forehead  and  unkempt  growth  of  beard,  the 
dawning  of  intelligence  and  surprise  swiftly  gave 
place  to  an  expression  of  terrible  anxiety  and  appre- 
hension. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here,  Lloyd  ?  "  he  cried. 

"  Hush !  "  she  answered  quickly  as  she  came  for- 
ward ;  "  above  all  things  you  must  not  sit  up ;  lie 
down  again  and  don't  talk.  You  are  very  sick." 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  he  answered  feebly.  "  I 
know  what  it  is.  But  you  must  leave  here.  It's  a 
terrible  risk  every  moment  you  stay  in  this  room. 
I  want  you  to  go.  You  understand — at  once !  Call 
the  doctor.  Don't  come  near  the  bed,"  he  went 

221 


A  Man's   Woman 

on  excitedly,  struggling  to  keep  himself  from  sink- 
ing back  upon  the  pillows.  His  breath  was  coming 
quick;  his  eyes  were  flashing.  All  the  poor,  shat- 
tered senses  were  aroused  and  quivering  with  ex- 
citement and  dread. 

"  It  will  kill  you  to  stay  here,"  he  continued,  al- 
most breathless.  "  Out  of  this  room  !  "  he  com- 
manded. "Out  of  this  house!  It  is  mine  now; 
I'm  the  master  here — do  you  understand  ?  Don't !  " 
he  exclaimed  as  Lloyd  put  her  hands  upon  his  shoul- 
ders to  force  him  to  lie  down  again. 

"  Don't,  don't  touch  me !    Stand  away  from  me !  " 

He  tried  to  draw  back  from  her  in  the  bed.  Then 
suddenly  he  made  a  great  effort  to  rise,  resisting 
her  efforts. 

"  I  shall  put  you  out,  then,"  he  declared,  strug- 
gling against  Lloyd's  clasp  upon  his  shoulders, 
catching  at  her  wrists.  His  excitement  was  so  in- 
tense, his  fervour  so  great  that  it  could  almost  be 
said  he  touched  the  edge  of  his  delirium  again. 

"  Do  you  hear,  do  you  hear  ?     Out  of  this  room  !  " 

"  No,"  said  Lloyd  calmly ;  "  you  must  be  quiet ; 
you  must  try  to  go  to  sleep.  This  time  you  cannot 
make  me  leave." 

He  caught  her  by  one  arm,  and,  bracing  himself 
with  the  other  against  the  headboard  of  the  bed, 
thrust  her  back  from  him  with  all  his  might. 

"  Keep  away  from  me,  I  tell  you ;  keep  back  !  You 
shall  do  as  I  say !  I  have  always  carried  my  point, 
and  I  shall  not  fail  now.  Believe  me,  I  shall  not. 

You — you "  he  panted  as  he  struggled  with 

her,  ashamed  of  his  weakness,  humiliated  beyond 
words  that  she  should  know  it.  "  I — you  shall — 

222 


A  Man's  Woman 

you  will  compel  me  to  use  force.  Don't  let  it  come 
to  that." 

Calmly  Lloyd  took  both  his  wrists  in  the  strong, 
quiet  clasp  of  one  palm,  and  while  she  supported  his 
shoulders  with  her  other  arm,  laid  him  down 
among  the  pillows  again  as  though  he  had  been  a 
child. 

"  I'm — I'm  a  bit  weak  and  trembly  just  now,"  he 
admitted,  panting  with  his  exertion ;  "  but,  Lloyd, 
listen.  I  know  how  you  must  dislike  me  now,  but 
will  you  please  go — go,  go  at  once !  " 

"  No." 

What  a  strange  spinning  of  the  wheel  of  fate  was 
here !  In  so  short  a  time  had  their  mutual  positions 
been  reversed.  Now  it  was  she  who  was  strong  and 
he  who  was  weak.  It  was  she  who  conquered  and 
he  who  was  subdued.  It  was  she  who  triumphed 
and  he  who  was  humiliated.  It  was  he  who  im- 
plored and  she  who  denied.  It  was  her  will  and  no 
longer  his  that  must  issue  victorious  from  the 
struggle. 

And  how  complete  now  was  Bennett's  defeat! 
The  very  contingency  he  had  fought  so  desperately 
to  avert  and  for  which  he  had  sacrificed  Ferriss — 
Lloyd's  care  of  so  perilous  a  disease — behold !  the 
mysterious  turn  of  the  wheel  had  brought  it  about, 
and  now  he  was  powerless  to  resist. 

"  Oh !  "  he  cried,  "  have  I  not  enough  upon  my 
mind  already — Ferriss  and  his  death  ?  Are  you  go- 
ing to  make  me  imperil  your  life  too,  and  after  I 
have  tried  so  hard  ?  You  must  not  stay  here." 

"  I  shall  stay,"  she  answered. 

"  J  order  you  to  go.  This  is  my  house.  Send 
223 


A  Man's  Woman 

the  doctor  here.  Where's  Adler?  "  Suddenly  he 
fainted. 

An  hour  or  two  later,  in  the  gray  of  the  morning, 
at  a  time  when  Bennett  was  sleeping  quietly  under 
the  influence  of  opiates,  Lloyd  found  herself  sitting 
at  the  window  in  front  of  the  small  table  there,  her 
head  resting  on  her  hand,  thoughtful,  absorbed,  and 
watching  with  but  half-seeing  eyes  the  dawn  grow- 
ing pink  over  the  tops  of  the  apple-trees  in  the 
orchard  near  by. 

The  window  was  open  just  wide  enough  for  the 
proper  ventilation  of  the  room.  For  a  long  time 
she  sat  thus  without  moving,  only  from  time  to  time 
smoothing  back  the  heavy,  bronze-red  hair  from  her 
temples  and  ears.  By  degrees  the  thinking  faculties 
of  her  brain,  as  it  were,  a  myriad  of  delicate  inter- 
lacing wheels,  slowly  decreased  in  the  rapidity  and 
intensity  of  their  functions.  She  began  to  feel  in- 
stead of  to  think.  As  the  activity  of  her  mind  lapsed 
to  a  certain  pleasant  numbness,  a  vague,  formless, 
nameless  emotion  seemed  to  be  welling  to  the  sur- 
face. It  was  no  longer  a  question  of  the  brain. 
What  then  ?  Was  it  the  heart  ?  She  gave  no  name 
to  this  new  emotion ;  it  was  too  confused  as  yet, 
too  undefinable.  A  certain  great  sweetness  seemed 
to  be  coming  upon  her,  but  she  could  not  say 
whether  she  was  infinitely  sad  or  supremely  happy ; 
a  smile  was  on  her  lips,  and  yet  the  tears  began  to 
brim  in  her  dull-blue  eyes. 

She  felt  as  if  some  long,  fierce  struggle,  or  series 

of  struggles,  were  at  last  accomplished ;  as  if  for  a 

long  period  of  time  she  had  been  involved  in  the 

maze  and  tortuous  passages  of  some  gloomy  cavern, 

224 


A  Man's  Woman 

but  at  length,  thence  issuing,  had  again  beheld  the 
stars.  A  great  tenderness,  a  certain  tremulous  joy 
in  all  things  that  were  true  and  good  and  right, 
grew  big  and  strong  within  her ;  the  delight  in  living 
returned  to  her.  The  dawn  was  brightening  and 
flushing  over  all  the  world,  and  colour,  light,  and 
warmth  were  coming  back  into  her  life.  The  night 
had  been  still  and  mild,  but  now  the  first  breath  of 
the  morning  breeze  stirred  in  the  trees,  in  the  grass, 
in  the  flowers,  and  the  thick,  dew-drenched  bushes 
along  the  roadside,  and  a  delicious  aroma  of  fields 
and  woods  and  gardens  came  to  her.  The  sweet- 
ness of  life  and  the  sweetness  of  those  things  better 
than  life  and  more  enduring,  the  things  that  do  not 
fail,  nor  cease,  nor  vanish  away,  suddenly  entered 
into  that  room  and  descended  upon  her  almost  in 
the  sense  of  a  benediction,  a  visitation,  something 
mystic  and  miraculous.  It  was  a  moment  to  hope 
all  things,  to  believe  all  things,  to  endure  all  things. 
She  caught  her  breath,  listening — for  what  she 
did  not  know.  Once  again,  just  as  it  had  been  in 
that  other  dawn,  in  that  other  room  where  the 
Enemy  had  been  conquered,  the  sense  of  some  great 
happiness  was  in  the  air,  was  coming  to  her  swiftly. 
But  now  the  greater  Enemy  had  been  outfought, 
the  morning  of  a  greater  day  was  breaking  and 
spreading,  and  the  greatest  happiness  in  the  world 
was  preparing  for  her.  How  it  had  happened  she 
did  not  know.  Now  was  not  the  moment  to  think, 
to  reason,  to  reflect.  It  seemed  as  though  the  rush- 
ing of  wings  was  all  about  her,  as  though  a  light 
brighter  than  the  dav  was  just  about  to  break  upon 
her  sight,  as  though  a  music  divinely  beautiful  was 
15  225 


A  Man's  Woman 

just  about  to  burst  upon  her  ear.  But  the  light  was 
not  for  her  eye ;  the  music  was  not  for  her  ear.  The 
radiance  and  the  harmony  came  from  herself,  from 
within  her.  The  intellect  was  numb.  Only  the 
heart  was  alive  on  this  wonderful  midsummer's 
morning,  and  it  was  in  her  heart  that  the  radiance 
shone  and  the  harmony  vibrated.  Back  in  his  place 
once  more,  high  on  his  throne,  the  love  that  she  be- 
lieved had  forever  departed  from  her  sat  exalted 
and  triumphant,  singing  to  the  cadence  of  that  un- 
heard music,  shining  and  magnificent  in  the  glory 
of  that  new-dawned  light. 

Would  Bennett  live?  Suddenly  that  question 
leaped  up  in  her  mind  and  stood  in  the  eye  of  her 
imagination,  terrible,  menacing — a  hideous,  grim 
spectre,  before  which  Lloyd  quailed  with  failing 
heart  and  breath.  The  light,  the  almost  divine 
radiance  that  had  burst  upon  her,  nevertheless  threw 
a  dreadful  shadow  before  it.  Beneath  the  music  she 
heard  the  growl  of  the  thunder.  lier  new-found 
happiness  was  not  without  its  accompanying  dis- 
may. Love  had  not  returned  to  her  heart  alone. 
With  it  had  returned  the  old  Enemy  she  had  once 
believed  had  left  her  forever.  Now  it  had  come 
back.  As  before,  it  lurked  and  leered  at  her  from 
dark  corners.  It  crept  to  her  side,  to  her  back, 
ready  to  leap,  ready  to  strike,  to  clutch  at  her  throat 
with  cold  fingers  and  bear  her  to  the  earth,  rending 
her  heart  with  a  grief  she  told  herself  she  could  not 
endure  and  live.  She  loved  him  now  with  all  her 
mind  and  might ;  how  could  it  ever  have  been  other- 
wise? He  belonged  to  her — and  she?  Why,  she 
only  lived  with  his  life ;  she  seemed  so  bound  to  him 
DO 


A  Man's  Woman 

as  to  be  part  of  his  very  self.  Literally,  she  could 
not  understand  how  it  would  be  possible  for  her  to 
live  if  he  should  die.  It  seemed  to  her  that  with 
his  death  some  mysterious  element  of  her  life,  some- 
thing vital  and  fundamental,  for  which  there  was  no 
name,  would  disintegrate  upon  the  instant  and  leave 
her  without  the  strength  necessary  for  further  ex- 
istence. But  this  would,  however,  be  a  relief.  The 
prospect  of  the  years  after  his  death,  the  fearful 
loneliness  of  life  without  him,  was  a  horror  before 
which  she  veritably  believed  her  reason  itself  must 
collapse. 

"  Lloyd." 

Bennett  was  awake  again  and  watching  her  with 
feverish  anxiety  from  where  he  lay  among  the  pil- 
lows. "  Lloyd,"  he  repeated,  the  voice  once  so  deep 
and  powerful  quavering  pitifully.  "  I  was  wrong. 
I  don't  want  you  to  go.  Don't  leave  me." 

In  an  instant  Lloyd  was  at  his  side,  kneeling  by 
the  bed.  She  caught  one  of  the  great,  gnarled 
hands,  seamed  and  corded  and  burning  with  the 
fever.  "  Never,  never,  dearest ;  never  so  long  as  I 
Bhall  live." 


IX. 


When  Adler  heard  Bennett's  uncertain  steps  upon 
the  stairs  and  the  sound  of  Lloyd's  voice  speaking 
to  him  and  urging  that  there  was  no  hurry,  and  that 
he  was  to  take  but  one  step  at  a  time,  he  wheeled 
swiftly  about  from  the  windows  of  the  glass-room, 
where  he  had  been  watching  the  October  breeze 
stirring  the  crimson  and  yellow  leaves  in  the  or- 
chard, and  drew  back  his  master's  chair  from  the 
breakfast  table  and  stood  behind  it  expectantly,  his 
eyes  watching  the  door. 

Lloyd  held  back  the  door,  and  Bennett  came  in, 
leaning  heavily  on  Dr.  Pitts's  shoulder.  Adler 
stiffened  upon  the  instant  as  if  in  answer  to  some 
unheard  bugle-call,  and  when  Bennett  had  taken 
his  seat,  pushed  his  chair  gently  to  the  table  and 
unfolded  his  napkin  with  a  flourish  as  though  giving 
a  banner  to  the  wind.  Pitts  almost  immediately  left 
the  room,  but  Lloyd  remained  supervising  Bennett's 
breakfast,  pouring  his  milk,  buttering  his  toast,  and 
opening  his  eggs. 

"Coffee?"  suddenly  inquired  Bennett.  Lloyd 
shook  her  head. 

"  Not  for  another  week." 

Bennett  looked  with  grim  disfavour  upon  the 
glass  of  milk  that  Lloyd  had  placed  at  his  elbow. 

"Such  slop!"  he  growled.  "  Whv  not  a  little 
sugar  and  warm  water,  and  be  done  with  it  ?  Lloyd, 
228 


A  Man's  Woman 

I  can't  drink  this  stuff  any  more.  Why,  it's  warm 
yet !  "  he  exclaimed  aggnevedly  and  with  deep  dis- 
gust, abruptly  setting  clown  the  glass. 

"  \V  hy,  of  course  it  is,"  she  answered ;  "  we 
brought  the  cow  here  especially  for  you,  and  the 
boy  has  just  done  milking  her — and  it's  not  slop." 

"  Slop  !  slop !  "  declared  Bennett.  He  picked 
up  the  glass  again  and  looked  at  her  over  the 
rim. 

"  I'll  drink  this  stuff  this  one  more  time  to  please 
you,"  he  said.  "  But  I  promise  you  this  will  be  the 
last  time.  You  needn't  ask  me  again.  I  have 
drunk  enough  milk  the  past  three  weeks  to  support 
a  foundling  hospital  for  a  year." 

Invariably,  since  the  period  of  his  convalescence 
began,  Bennett  made  this  scene  over  his  hourly 
glass  of  milk,  and  invariably  it  ended  by  his  gulping 
it  down  at  nearly  a  single  swallow. 

Adler  brought  in  the  mail  and  the  morning 
paper.  Three  letters  had  come  for  Lloyd,  and  for 
Bennett  a  small  volume  on  "  Recent  Arctic  Research 
and  Exploration,"  sent  by  his  publisher  with  a  note 
to  the  effect  that,  as  the  latest  authority  on  the  sub- 
ject, Bennett  was  sure  to  find  it  of  great  interest. 
In  an  appendix,  inserted  after  the  body  of  the  book 
had  been  made  up,  the  Freja  expedition  and  his  own 
work  were  briefly  described.  Lloyd  put  her  letters 
aside,  and,  unfolding  the  paper,  said,  "  I'll  read  it 
while  you  eat  your  breakfast.  Have  vou  evervthingf 
you  want?  Did  you  drink  your  milk — all  of  it?" 
But  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye  she  noted  that  Adler 
was  chuckling  behind  the  trav  that  he  heM  to  his 
face,  and  with  growing  suspicion  she  leaned  forward 

22Q 


A  Man's  Woman 

and  peered  about  among  the  breakfast  things. 
Bennett  had  hidden  his  glass  behind  the  toast-rack. 

"  And  it's  only  two-thirds  empty,"  she  declared. 
"  Ward,  why  will  you  be  such  a  boy  ?  " 

"  Oh,  well,"  he  grumbled,  and  without  more  ado 
drank  oft"  the  balance. 

"  Now  I'll  read  to  you  if  you  have  everything 
you  want.  Adler,  I  think  you  can  open  one  of  those 
windows ;  it's  so  warm  out  of  doors." 

While  he  ate  his  breakfast  of  toast,  milk,  and  eggs 
Lloyd  skimmed  through  the  paper,  reading  aloud 
everything  she  thought  would  be  of  interest  to  him. 
Then,  after  a  moment,  her  eye  was  caught  and  held 
by  a  half-colmun  article  expanded  from  an  Asso- 
ciated Press  despatch. 

"  Oh !  "  she  cried,  "  listen  to  this !  "  and  con- 
tinued :  " '  Word  has  been  received  at  this  place  of 
the  safe  arrival  of  the  arctic  steamship  Curlew 
at  Tasiusak,  on  the  Greenland  coast,  bearing  eigh- 
teen members  of  the  Duane-Parsons  expedition. 
Captain  Duane  reports  all  well  and  an  uneventful 
voyage.  It  is  his  intention  to  pass  the  winter  at 
Tasiusak,  collecting  dogs  and  also  Esquimau 
sledges,  which  he  believes  superior  to  European 
manufacture  for  work  in  rubble-ice,  and  to  push 
on  with  the  Curlew  in  the  spring  as  soon  as 
Smith  Sound  shall  be  navigable.  This  may  be  later 
than  Captain  Duane  supposes,  as  the  whalers  who 
have  been  working  in  the  sound  during  the  past 
months  bring  back  news  of  an  unusually  early  win- 
ter and  extraordinary  quantities  of  pack-ice  both 
in  the  sound  itself  and  in  Kane  Basin.  This  means 
a  proportionately  late  open  season  next  year,  and 


A  Man's  Woman 

the  Curlew's  departure  from  Tasiusak  may  be 
considerably  later  than  anticipated.  It  is  consid- 
ered by  the  best  arctic  experts  an  unfortunate  cir- 
cumstance that  Captain  Duane  elected  to  winter 
south  of  Cape  Sabine,  as  the  condition  of  the  ice  in 
Smith  Sound  can  never  be  relied  upon  nor  foretold. 
Should  the  entrance  to  the  sound  still  be  encum- 
bered with  ice  as  late  as  July,  which  is  by  no  means 
impossible,  Captain  Duane  will  be  obliged  to  spend 
another  winter  at  Tasiusak  or  Upernvick,  consum- 
ing alike  his  store  of  provisions  and  the  patience 
of  his  men.' " 

There  was  a  silence  when  Lloyd  finished  reading. 
Bennett  chipped  at  the  end  of  his  second  egg. 

"  Well  ?  "  she  said  at  length. 

"Well,"  returned  Bennett,  "what's  all  that  to 
me?  " 

"  It's  your  work,"  she  answered  almost  vehe- 
mently. 

"  No,  indeed.     It's  Duane's  work." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Let  him  try  now." 

"  And  you  ?  "  exclaimed  Lloyd,  looking  intently 
at  him. 

"  My  dear  girl,  I  had  my  chance  and  failed. 
Now — "  he  raised  a  shoulder  indifferently — "  now, 
I  don't  care  much  about  it.  I've  lost  interest." 

"  I  don't  believe  you,"  she  cried  energetically ; 
"  you  of  all  men."  Behind  Bennett's  chair  she  had 
a  momentary  glimpse  of  Adler,  who  had  tucked  his 
tray  under  his  arm  and  was  silentlv  applauding  in 
elaborate  pantomime.  She  saw  his  lips  form  the 
words  "  That's  it ;  that's  right.  Go  right  ahead." 
231 


A  Man's  Woman 

"  Besides,  I  have  my  book  to  do,  and,  besides  that, 
I'm  an  invalid — an  invalid  who  drinks  slop." 

"  And  you  intend  to  give  it  all  up — your  career?  " 

"  Well — if  I  should,  what  then  ?  "  Suddenly  he 
turned  to  her  abruptly.  "  I  should  not  think  you 
would  want  me  to  go  again.  Do  you  urge  me  to 
go?" 

Lloyd  made  a  sudden  little  gasp,  and  her  hand 
involuntarily  closed  upon  his  as  it  rested  near  her 
on  the  table. 

"  Oh,  no !  "  she  cried.  "  Oh,  no,  I  don't !  You 
are  right.  It's  not  your  work  now." 

"  Well,  then,"  muttered  Bennett  as  though  the 
question  was  forever  settled. 

Lloyd  turned  to  her  mail,  and  one  after  another 
slit  the  envelopes,  woman  fashion,  with  a  shell  hair- 
pin. But  while  she  was  glancing  over  the  contents 
of  her  letters  Bennett  began  to  stir  uneasily  in  his 
place.  From  time  to  time  he  stopped  eating  and 
shot  a  glance  at  Lloyd  from  under  his  frown,  noting 
the  crisp,  white  texture  of  her  gown  and  waist,  the 
white  scarf  with  its  high,  tight  bands  about  the  neck, 
the  tiny,  golden  buttons  in  her  cuffs,  the  sombre, 
ruddy  glow  of  her  cheeks,  her  dull-blue  eyes,  and 
the  piles  and  coils  of  her  bronze-red  hair.  Then, 
abruptly,  he  said: 

"  Adler,  you  can  go." 

Adler  saluted  and  withdrew. 

"Whom  are  your  letters  from?"  Bennett  de- 
manded by  way  of  a  beginning. 

Lloyd  replaced  the  hairpin  in  her  hair,  answering : 

"  From  Dr.  Street,  from  Louise  Douglass,  and 
from — Mr.  Campbell." 

232 


A  Man's  Woman 

"  Hum !  well,  what  do  they  say  ?  Dr.  Street  and 
— Louise  Douglass  ?  " 

"  Dr.  Street  asks  me  to  take  a  very  important 
surgical  case  as  soon  as  I  get  through  here,  '  one  of 
the  most  important  and  delicate,  as  well  as  one  of 
the  most  interesting,  operations  in  his  professional 
experience.'  Those  are  his  words.  Louise  writes 
four  pages,  but  she  says  nothing;  just  chatters." 

"And  Campbell?"  Bennett  indicated  with  his 
chin  the  third  rather  voluminous  letter  at  Lloyd's 
elbow.  "  He  seems  to  have  written  rather  more 
than  four  pages.  What  does  he  say?  Does  he 
'  chatter  '  too  ?  " 

Lloyd  smoothed  back  her  hair  from  one  temple. 

"  H'm — no.  He  says — something.  But  never 
mind  what  he  says.  Ward,  I  must  be  going  back 
to  the  City.  You  don't  need  a  nurse  any  more." 

"What's  that?"  Bennett's  frown  gathered  on 
the  instant,  and  with  a  sharp  movement  of  the  head 
that  was  habitual  to  him  he  brought  his  one  good 
eye  to  bear  upon  her. 

Lloyd  repeated  her  statement,  answering  his  re- 
monstrance and  expostulation  with : 

"  You  are  almost  perfectly  well,  and  it  would  not 
be  at  all — discreet  for  me  to  stay  here  an  hour  longer 
than  absolutely  necessary.  I  shall  go  back  to- 
morrow or  next  day." 

"  But,  I  tell  you,  I  am  still  very  sick.  I'm  a  poor, 
miserable,  shattered  wreck." 

He  made  a  great  show  of  coughing  in  hollow, 
lamentable  tones. 

"  Listen  to  that,  and  last  night  T  had  a  hi?h  fever, 
and  this  morning  I  had  a  queer  sort  of  pain  about 
233 


A  Man's  Woman 

here — "  he  vaguely  indicated  the  region  of  his 
chest.  "  I  think  I  am  about  to  have  a  relapse." 

"  Nonsense  1     You  can't  frighten  me  at  all." 

"  Oh,  well,"  he  answered  easily,  "  I  shall  go  with 
you — that  is  all.  I  suppose  you  want  to  see  me  ven- 
ture out  in  such  raw,  bleak  weather  as  this — with 
my  weak  lungs." 

"  Your  weak  lungs  ?     How  long  since  ?  " 

"  Well,  I — I've  sometimes  thought  my  lungs  were 
not  very  strong." 

"  Why,  dear  me,  you  poor  thing ;  I  suppose  the 
climate  at  Kolyuchin  Bay  was  a  trifle  too  brac- 
ing  " 

"  What  does  Campbell  say  ?" 

" and  the  diet  too  rich  for  your  blood " 

"  What  does  Campbell  say  ?  " 

" and  perhaps  you  did  overexert " 

"  Lloyd  Searight,  what  does  Mr.  Campbell  say 
in  that " 

"  He  asks  me  to  marry  him." 

"  To  mum — mar — marry  him  ?  Well,  damn  his 
impudence ! " 

"  Mr.  Campbell  is  an  eminently  respectable  and 
worthy  gentleman." 

"  Oh,  well,  I  don't  care.  Go !  Go,  marry  Mr. 
Campbell.  Be  happy.  I  forgive  you  both.  Go, 
leave  me  to  die  alone." 

"  Sir,  I  will  go.  Forget  that  you  ever  knew  an 
unhappy  worn — female,  whose  only  fault  was  that 
she  loved  you." 

"  Go !  and  sometimes  think  of  me  far  away  on  the 
billow  and  drop  a  silent  tear — I  say,  how  are  you 
going  to  answer  Campbell's  letter?  " 


A  Man's  Woman 

"  Just  one  word — f  Come'  " 

"  Lloyd,  be  serious.     This  is  no  joke." 

"  Joke  !  "  she  repeated  hollowly.  "  It  is,  indeed, 
a  sorry  joke.  Ah !  had  I  but  loved  with  a  girlish 
love,  it  would  have  been  better  for  me." 

Then  suddenly  she  caught  him  about  the  neck 
with  both  her  arms,  and  kissed  him  on  the  cheek 
and  on  the  lips,  a  little  quiver  running  through  her 
to  her  finger-tips,  her  mood  changing  abruptly  to  a 
deep,  sweet  earnestness. 

"  Oh,  Ward,  Ward !  "  she  cried,  "  all  our  unhap- 
piness  and  all  our  sorrow  and  trials  and  anxiety  and 
cruel  suspense  are  over  now,  and  now  we  really 
have  each  other  and  love  each  other,  dear,  and  all 
the  years  to  come  are  only  going  to  bring  happi- 
ness to  us,  and  draw  us  closer  and  nearer  to  each 
other." 

"  But  here's  a  point,  Lloyd,"  said  Bennett  after  a 
few  moments  and  when  they  had  returned  to  co- 
herent speech  ;  "  how  about  your  work  ?  You  talk 
about  my  career ;  what  about  yours  ?  We  are  to  be 
married,  but  I  know  just  how  you  have  loved  your 
work.  It  will  be  a  hard  wrench  for  you  if  you  give 
that  up.  I  am  not  sure  that  I  should  ask  it  of  you. 
This  letter  of  Street's,  now.  I  know  just  how  eager 
you  must  be  to  take  charge  of  such  operations — 
such  important  cases  as  he  mentions.  It  would  be 
very  selfish  of  me  to  ask  you  to  give  up  your  work. 
It's  your  life-work,  your  profession,  your  career." 

Lloyd  took  up  Dr.  Street's  letter,  and,  holding  it 
delicately  at  arm's  length,  tore  it  in  two  and  let  the 
pieces  flutter  to  the  floor. 

"  That,  for  my  life-work,"  said  Lloyd  Searight 


A  Man's  Woman 

As  she  drew  back  from  him  an  instant  later  Ben- 
nett all  at  once  and  very  earnestly  demanded : 

"  Lloyd,  do  you  love  me?  " 

"  With  all  my  heart,  Ward." 

"  And  you  will  be  my  wife  ?  " 

"  You  know  that  I  will." 

"  Then  " — Bennett  picked  up  the  little  volume  of 
"  Arctic  Research "  which  he  had  received  that 
morning,  and  tossed  it  from  him  upon  the  floor — 
"  that,  for  my  career,"  he  answered. 

For  a  moment  they  were  silent,  looking  gladly 
into  each  other's  eyes.  Then  Bennett  drew  her  to 
him  again  and  held  her  close  to  him,  and  once  more 
she  put  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  nestled  her 
head  down  upon  his  shoulder  with  a  little  com- 
fortable sigh  of  contentment  and  relief  and  quiet  joy, 
for  that  the  long,  fierce  trial  was  over;  that  there 
were  no  more  fights  to  be  fought,  no  more  grim, 
hard  situations  to  face,  no  more  relentless  duties  to 
be  done.  She  had  endured  and  she  had  prevailed; 
now  her  reward  was  come.  Now  for  the  long,  calm 
years  of  happiness. 

Later  in  the  day,  about  an  hour  after  noon,  Ben- 
nett took  his  daily  nap,  carefully  wrapped  in  shawls 
and  stretched  out  in  a  wicker  steamer-chair  in  the 
glass-room.  Lloyd,  in  the  meantime,  was  busy  in 
the  garden  at  the  side  of  the  house,  gathering 
flowers  which  she  intended  to  put  in  a  huge  china 
bowl  in  Bennett's  room.  While  she  was  thus  oc- 
cupied Adler,  followed  by  Kamiska,  came  up.  Adler 
pulled  off  his  cap. 

"  I  beg  pardon,  Miss,"  he  began,  turning  his  cap 
about  between  his  fingers.  "  I  don't  want  to  seem 
236 


A  Man's  Woman 

to  intrude,  and  if  I  do  I  just  guess  you'd  better  tell 
me  so  first  off.  But  what  did  he  say — or  did  he  say 
anything — the  captain,  I  mean — this  morning  about 
going  up  again?  I  heard  you  talking  to  him  at 
breakfast.  That's  it,  that's  the  kind  of  talk  he 
needs.  I  can't  talk  that  talk  to  him.  I'm  so  main 
seared  of  him.  I  wouldn't  'a'  believed  the  captain 
/would  ever  say  he'd  give  up,  would  ever  say  he  was 
beaten.  But,  Miss,  I'm  thinking  as  there's  some- 
thing wrong,  main  wrong  with  the  captain  these 
days  besides  fever.  He's  getting  soft — that's  what 
he  is.  If  you'd  only  know  the  man  that  he  was — 
before — while  we  was  up  there  in  the  Ice !  That's 
his  work,  that's  what  he's  cut  out  for.  There  ain't 
nobody  can  do  it  but  him,  and  to  see  him  quit,  to  see 
him  chuck  up  his  chance  to  a  third-rate  ice-pilot 
like  Duane — a  coastwise  college  professor  that  don't 
know  no  more  about  Ice  than — than  you  do — it 
regularly  makes  me  sick.  Why,  what  will  become 
of  the  captain  now  if  he  quits?  He'll  just  settle 
down  to  an  ordinary  stay-at-home,  write-in-a-book 
professor,  and  write  articles  for  the  papers  and  mag- 
azines, and  bye-and-bye,  maybe,  he'll  get  down  to 
lecturing!  Just  fancy,  Miss,  him,  the  captain,  lec- 
turing! And  while  he  stays  at  home  and  writes, 
and — oh,  Lord  ! — lectures,  somebody  else,  without  a 
fifth  of  his  ability,  will  do  the  work.  It'll  just  natu- 
rally break  my  heart,  it  will !  "  exclaimed  Adler, 
"  if  the  captain  chucks.  I  wouldn't  be  so  main  sorry 
that  he  won't  reach  the  Pole  as  that  he  quit  trying — 
as  that  a  man  like  the  captain — or  like  what  I 
thought  he  was — gave  up  and  chucked  when  he 
could  win." 

237 


A  Man's  Woman 

"  But,  Adler,"  returned  Lloyd,  "  the  captain- 
Mr.  Bennett,  it  seems  to  me,  has  done  his  share. 
Think  what  he's  been  through.  You  can't  have  for- 
gotten the  march  to  Kolyuchin  Bay  ?  " 

But  Adler  made  an  impatient  gesture  with  the 
hand  that  held  the  cap.  "  The  danger  don't  figure ; 
what  he'd  have  to  go  through  with  don't  figure; 
the  chances  of  life  or  death  don't  figure ;  nothing  in 
the  world  don't  figure.  It's  his  work;  God  A'mighty 
cut  him  out  for  that,  and  he's  got  to  do  it.  Ain't 
you  got  any  influence  with  him,  Miss  ?  Won't  you 
talk  good  talk  to  him  ?  Don't  let  him  chuck ;  don't 
let  him  get  soft.  Make  him  be  a  Man  and  not  a 
professor." 

When  Adler  had  left  her  Lloyd  sank  into  a  little 
seat  at  the  edge  of  the  garden  walk,  and  let  the 
flowers  drop  into  her  lap,  and  leaned  back  in  her 
place,  wide-eyed  and  thoughtful,  reviewing  in  her 
imagination  the  events  of  the  past  few  months. 
What  a  change  that  summer  had  brought  to  both 
of  them ;  how  they  had  been  shaped  anew  in  the 
mould  of  circumstance ! 

Suddenly  and  without  warning,  they  two,  high- 
spirited,  strong,  determined,  had  clashed  together, 
the  man's  force  against  the  woman's  strength ;  and 
the  woman,  inherently  weaker,  had  been  crushed  and 
humbled.  For  a  time  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  h&d 
been  broken  beyond  hope;  so  humbled  that  she 
could  never  rise  again ;  as  though  a  great  crisis  had 
developed  in  her  life,  and  that,  having  failed  once, 
she  must  fail  again,  and  again,  and  again — as  if  her 
whole  subsequent  life  must  be  one  long  failure. 
But  a  greater  crisis  had  followed  hard  upon  the 
238 


A  Man's  Woman 

heels  of  the  first — the  struggle  with  self,  the  great- 
est struggle  of  all.  Against  the  abstract  principle 
of  evil  the  woman  who  had  failed  in  the  material 
conflict  with  a  masculine,  masterful  will,  had  suc- 
ceeded, had  conquered  self,  had  been  true  when  it 
was  easy  to  be  false,  had  dared  the  judgment  of  her 
peers  so  only  that  she  might  not  deceive. 

Her  momentary,  perhaps  fancied,  hatred  of  Ben- 
nett, who  had  so  cruelly  misunderstood  and  humili- 
ated her,  had  apparently,  of  its  own  accord,  departed 
from  her  heart.  Then  had  come  the  hour  when 
the  strange  hazard  of  fortune  had  reversed  their 
former  positions,  when  she  could  be  masterful  while 
he  was  weak;  when  it  was  the  man's  turn  to  be 
broken,  to  be  prevailed  against.  Her  own  discom- 
fiture had  been  offset  by  his.  She  no  longer  need 
look  to  him  as  her  conqueror,  her  master.  And 
when  she  had  seen  him  so  weak,  so  pathetically  un- 
able to  resist  the  lightest  pressure  of  her  hand ;  when 
it  was  given  her  not  only  to  witness  but  to  relieve 
his  suffering,  the  great  love  for  him  that  could  not 
die  had  returned.  With  the  mastery  of  self  had 
come  the  forgetfulness  of  self;  and  her  profession, 
her  life-work,  of  which  she  had  been  so  proud,  had 
seemed  to  her  of  small  concern.  Now  she  was  his, 
and  his  life  was  hers.  She  should — so  she  told 
herself — be  henceforward  happy  in  his  happiness, 
and  her  only  pride  would  be  the  pride  in  his  achieve- 
ments. 

But  now  the  unexpected  had  happened,  and  Ben- 
nett had  given  up  his  career.  During  the  period  of 
Bennett's  convalescence  Lloyd  had  often  talked 
long  and  earnestly  with  him,  and  partly  from  what 
239 


A  Man's  Woman 

he  had  told  her  and  partly  from  much  that  she  in- 
ferred she  had  at  last  been  able  to  trace  out  and 
follow  the  mental  processes  and  changes  through 
which  Bennett  had  passed.  He,  too,  had  been 
proved  by  fire ;  he,  too,  had  had  his  ordeal,  his  trial. 

By  nature,  by  training,  and  by  virtue  of  the  life 
he  lived  Bennett  had  been  a  man,  harsh,  somewhat 
brutal,  inordinately  selfish,  and  at  all  times  magnifi- 
cently arrogant.  He  had  neither  patience  nor  tol- 
eration for  natural  human  weakness.  While  selfish, 
he  was  not  self-conscious,  and  it  never  occurred  to 
him,  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  see  that  he  was 
a  giant  among  men.  His  heart  was  callous;  his 
whole  nature  and  character  hard  and  flinty  from  the 
buffetings  he  gave  rather  than  received. 

Then  had  come  misfortune.  Ferriss  had  died, 
and  Bennett's  recognition  and  acknowledgment  of 
the  fact  that  he,  Ward  Bennett,  who  never  failed, 
who  never  blundered,  had  made  at  last  the  great 
and  terrible  error  of  his  life,  had  shaken  his  char- 
acter to  its  very  foundations.  This  was  only  the 
beginning;  the  breach  once  made,  Humanity  en- 
tered into  the  gloomy,  waste  places  of  his  soul;  re- 
morse crowded  hard  upon  his  wonted  arrogance ; 
generosity  and  the  impulse  to  make  amends  took 
the  place  of  selfishness;  kindness  thrust  out  the 
native  brutality;  the  old-time  harshness  and  im- 
periousness  gave  way  to  a  certain  spirit  of  toleration. 

It  was  the  influence  of  these  new  emotions  that 
had  moved  Bennett  to  make  the  statement  to  Adler 
that  had  so  astonished  and  perplexed  his  old-time 
subordinate.  He,  Bennett,  too,  like  Lloyd,  was  at 
that  time  endeavouring  to  free  himself  from  a  false 
240 


A  Man's  Woman 

position,  and  through  the  medium  of  confession 
stand  in  his  true  colours  in  the  eyes  of  his  associates. 
Unconsciously  they  were  both  working  out  their 
salvation  along  the  same  lines. 

Then  had  come  Bennett's  resolve  to  give  Ferriss 
the  conspicuous  and  prominent  place  in  his  book, 
the  account  of  the  expedition.  The  more  Bennett 
dwelt  upon  Ferriss's  heroism,  intelligence,  and 
ability  the  more  his  task  became  a  labour  of  love, 
and  the  more  the  idea  of  self  dropped  away  from  his 
thought  and  imagination.  Then — and  perhaps  this 
was  not  the  least  important  factor  in  Bennett's  trans- 
formation— sickness  had  befallen ;  the  strong  and 
self-reliant  man  had  been  brought  to  the  weakness 
of  a  child,  whom  the  pressure  of  a  finger  could  con- 
trol. He  suddenly  changed  places  with  the  woman 
he  believed  he  had,  at  such  fearful  cost,  broken  and 
subdued.  His  physical  strength,  once  so  enormous, 
was  as  a  reed  in  the  woman's  hand ;  his  will,  so  in- 
domitable, was  as  powerless  as  an  infant's  before 
the  woman's  calm  resolve,  rising  up  there  before  him 
and  overmastering  him  at  a  time  he  believed  it  to  be 
forever  weakened. 

Bennett  had  come  forth  from  the  ordeal  chastened, 
softened,  and  humbled.  But  he  was  shattered, 
broken,  brought  to  the  earth  with  sorrow  and  the 
load  of  unavailing  regret.  Ambition  was  numb  and 
lifeless  within  him.  Reaction  from  his  former  atti- 
tude of  aggression  and  defiance  had  carried  him  far 
beyond  the  normal. 

Here  widened  the  difference  between  the  man 
and  the  woman.  Lloyd's  discontinuance  of  her  life- 
work  had  been  in  the  nature  of  heroic  subjugation 
16  241 


A  Man's  Woman 

of  self.  Bennett's  abandonment  of  his  career  was 
hardly  better  than  weakness.  In  the  one  it  had 
been  renunciation ;  in  the  other  surrender.  In  the 
end,  and  after  all  was  over,  it  was  the  woman  who 
remained  the  stronger. 

But  for  her,  the  woman,  was  it  true  that  all  was 
over?  Had  the  last  conflict  been  fought?  Was 
it  not  rather  to  be  believed  that  life  was  one  long 
conflict?  Was  it  not  for  her,  Lloyd,  to  rouse  that 
sluggard  ambition  ?  Was  not  this  her  career,  after 
all,  to  be  his  inspiration,  his  incentive,  to  urge  him 
to  the  accomplishment  of  a  great  work?  Now,  of 
the  two,  she  was  the  stronger.  In  these  new  con- 
ditions what  was  her  duty  ?  Adler's  clumsy  phrases 
persisted  in  her  mind.  "  That's  his  work,"  Adler 
had  said.  "  God  Almighty  cut  him  out  for  that, 
and  he's  got  to  do  it.  Don't  let  him  chuck,  don't 
let  him  get  soft ;  make  him  be  a  man  and  not  a  pro- 
fessor." 

Had  she  so  much  influence  over  Bennett?  Could 
she  rouse  the  restless,  daring  spirit  again?  Per- 
haps ;  but  what  would  it  mean  for  her — for  her, 
who  must  be  left  behind  to  wait,  and  wait,  and  wait 
— for  three  years,  for  five  years,  for  ten  years — per- 
haps forever  ?  And  now,  at  this  moment,  when  she 
believed  that  at  last  happiness  had  come  to  her; 
when  the  duty  had  been  done,  the  grim  problems 
solved ;  when  sickness  had  been  overcome ;  when 
love  had  come  back,  and  the  calm,  untroubled  days 
seemed  lengthening  out  ahead,  there  came  to  her 
recollection  the  hideous  lapse  of  time  that  had  inter- 
vened between  the  departure  of  the  Freja  and  the 
expedition's  return;  what  sleepless  nights,  what 
943 


A  Man's  Woman 

days  of  unspeakable  suspense,  what  dreadful  alter- 
nations between  hope  and  despair,  what  silent,  re- 
pressed suffering,  what  haunting,  ever-present  dread 
of  a  thing  she  dared  not  name !  Was  the  Fear  to 
come  into  her  life  again ;  the  Enemy  that  lurked  and 
leered  and  forebore  to  strike,  that  hung  upon  her 
heels  at  every  hour  of  the  day,  that  sat  down  with 
her  to  her  every  occupation,  that  followed  after 
when  she  stirred  abroad,  that  came  close  to  her  in 
the  still  watches  of  the  night,  creeping,  creeping  to 
her  bedside,  looming  over  her  in  the  darkness ;  the 
cold  ringers  reaching  closer  and  closer,  the  awful 
face  growing  ever  more  distinct,  till  the  suspense 
of  waiting  for  the  blow  to  fall,  for  the  fingers  to  grip, 
became  more  than  she  could  bear,  and  she  sprang 
from  her  bed  with  a  stifled  sob  of  anguish,  driven 
from  her  rest  with  quivering  lips  and  streaming 
eyes? 

Abruptly  Lloyd  rose  to  her  feet,  the  flowers  fall- 
ing unheeded  from  her  lap,  her  arms  rigid  at  her 
side,  her  hands  shut  tight. 

"  No,"  she  murmured,  "  I  cannot.  This,  at  last, 
is  more  than  I  can  do." 

Instantly  Adler's  halting  words  went  ringing 
through  her  brain:  "The  danger  don't  figure; 
nothing  in  the  world  don't  figure.  It's  his  work." 

Adler's  words  were  the  words  of  the  world.  She 
alone  of  the  thousands  whose  eyes  were  turned 
toward  Bennett  was  blinded.  She  was  wrong. 
She  belonged  to  him,  but  he  did  not  belong  to  her. 
The  world  demanded  him ;  the  world  called  him 
from  her  side  to  do  the  terrible  work  that  God  had 
made  him  for.  Was  she,  because  she  loved  him, 
343 


A  Man's  Woman 

because  of  her  own  single  anguish,  to  stand  between 
him  and  the  clamour  of  the  world,  between  him  and 
his  work,  between  him  and  God? 

A  work  there  was  for  him  to  do.  He  must  play 
the  man's  part.  The  battle  must  be  fought  again. 
That  horrible,  grisly  Enemy  far  up  there  to  the 
north,  upon  the  high  curve  of  the  globe,  the  shoul- 
der of  the  world,  huge,  remorseless,  terrible  in  its 
vast,  Titanic  strength,  guarding  its  secret  through 
all  the  centuries  in  the  innermost  of  a  thousand 
gleaming  coils,  must  be  defied  again.  The  monster 
that  defended  the  great  prize,  the  object  of  so  many 
fruitless  quests  must  be  once  more  attacked. 

His  was  the  work,  for  him  the  shock  of  battle,  the 
rigour  of  the  fight,  the  fierce  assault,  the  ceaseless 
onset,  the  unfailing  and  unflinching  courage. 

Hers  was  the  woman's  part.  Already  she  had 
assumed  it;  steadfast  unselfishness,  renunciation, 
patience,  the  heroism  greater  than  all  others,  that 
sits  with  folded  hands,  quiet,  unshaken,  and  under 
fearful  stress,  endures,  and  endures,  and  endures. 
To  be  the  inspiration  of  great  deeds,  high  hopes,  and 
firm  resolves,  and  then,  while  the  fight  was  dared,  to 
wait  in  calmness  for  its  issue — that  was  her  duty; 
that,  the  woman's  part  in  the  world's  great  work. 

Lloyd  was  dimly  conscious  of  a  certain  sweet  and 
subtle  element  in  her  love  for  Bennett  that  only  of 
late  she  had  begun  to  recognise  and  be  aware  of. 
This  was  a  certain  vague  protective,  almost  ma- 
ternal, instinct.  Perhaps  it  was  because  of  his  pres- 
ent weakness  both  of  body  and  character,  or  perhaps 
it  was  an  element  always  to  be  found  in  the  deep 
and  earnest  love  of  any  noble-hearted  woman.  She 
244 


A  Man's  Woman 

felt  that  she,  not  as  herself  individually,  but  as  a 
woman,  was  not  only  stronger  than  Bennett,  but  in 
a  manner  older,  more  mature.  She  was  conscious 
of  depths  in  her  nature  far  greater  than  in  his,  and 
also  that  she  was  capable  of  attaining  heights  of 
heroism,  devotion,  and  sacrifice  which  he,  for  all 
his  masculine  force,  could  not  only  never  reach,  but 
could  not  even  conceive  of.  It  was  this  conscious- 
ness of  her  larger,  better  nature  that  made  her  feel 
for  Bennett  somewhat  as  a  mother  feels  for  a  son, 
a  sister  for  her  younger  brother.  A  great  tender- 
ness mingled  with  her  affection,  a  vast  and  almost 
divine  magnanimity,  a  broad,  womanly  pity  for  his 
shortcomings,  his  errors,  his  faults.  It  was  to  her 
he  must  look  for  encouragement.  It  was  for  her  to 
bind  up  and  reshape  the  great  energy  that  had  been 
so  rudely  checked,  and  not  only  to  call  back  his 
strength,  but  to  guide  it  and  direct  into  its  appointed 
channels. 

Lloyd  returned  toward  the  glass-enclosed  veranda 
to  find  Bennett  just  arousing  from  his  nap.  She 
drew  the  shawls  closer  about  him  and  rearranged 
the  pillows  under  his  head,  and  then  sat  down  on  the 
steps  near  at  hand. 

"  Tell  me  about  this  Captain  Duane,"  she  began. 
"  Where  is  he  now  ?  " 

Bennett  yawned  and  passed  his  hand  across  his 
face,  rubbing  the  sleep  from  his  eyes. 

"  What  time  is  it  ?  I  must  have  slept  over  an 
hour.  Duane  ?  Why,  you  saw  what  the  paper  said. 
I  presume  he  is  at  Tasiusak." 

"  Do  you  think  he  will  succeed  ?     Do  you  think 
he  will  reach  the  Pole  ?    Adler  thinks  he  won't" 
245 


A  Man's  Woman 

"  Oh,  perhaps,  if  he  has  luck  and  an  open 
season." 

"  But  tell  me,  why  does  he  take  so  many  men? 
Isn't  that  contrary  to  the  custom  ?  I  know  a  great 
deal  about  arctic  work.  While  you  were  away  I 
read  every  book  I  could  get  upon  the  subject.  The 
best  work  has  been  done  with  small  expeditions. 
If  you  should  go  again — when  you  go  again,  will 
you  take  so  many?  I  saw  you  quoted  ,,.:mewhere 
as  being  in  favour  of  only  six  or  eight  men." 

"  Ten  should  be  the  limit — but  some  one  else  will 
make  the  attempt  now.  I'm  out  of  it.  I  tried  and 
failed." 

"  Failed — you !  The  idea  of  you  ever  failing,  of 
you  ever  giving  up !  Of  course  it  was  all  very  well 
to  joke  this  morning  about  giving  up  your  career ; 
but  I  know  you  will  be  up  and  away  again  only  too 
soon.  I  am  trying  to  school  myself  to  expect  that." 

"  Lloyd,  I  tell  you  that  I  am  out  of  it.  I  don't 
believe  the  Pole  ever  can  be  reached,  and  I  don't 
much  care  whether  it  is  reached  or  not." 

Suddenly  Lloyd  turned  to  him,  the  unwonted 
light  flashing  in  her  eyes.  "  /  do,  though/'  she 
cried  vehemently.  "  It  can  be  done,  and  we — 
America — ought  to  do  it." 

Bennett  stared  at  her,  startled  by  her  outburst. 

"  This  English  expedition,"  Lloyd  continued,  the 
colour  flushing  in  her  cheeks,  "  this  Duane-Parsons 
expedition,  they  will  have  the  start  of  everybody 
next  year.  Nearly  every  attempt  that  is  made  now 
establishes  a  new  record  for  a  high  latitude.  One 
nation  after  another  is  creeping  nearer  and  nearer 
almost  every  year,  and  each  expedition  is  profiting 
246 


A  Man's  Woman 

by  the  experiences  and  observations  made  by  the 

one  that  preceded  it.     Some  day,  and  not  very  long 

now,  some  nation  is  going  to  succeed  and  plant  its 

/Hag  there  at  last.     Why  should  it  not  be  us  ?     Why 

shouldn't  our  flag  be  first  at  the  Pole?     We  who 

have  had  so  many  heroes,  such  great  sailors,  such 

splendid  leaders,  such  explorers — our  Stanleys,  our 

x    Farraguts,  our  Decaturs,  our  De  Longs,  our  Lock- 

^woods — how  we  would  stand  ashamed  before  the 

world  if  some  other  nation  should  succeed  where 

we  have  all  but  succeeded — Norway,  or  France,  or 

Russia,  or  England — profiting  by  our  experiences, 

following  where  we  have  made  the  way !  " 

"  That  is  very  fine,"  admitted  Bennett.  "  It 
would  be  a  great  honour,  the  greatest  perhaps ;  and 
once — I — well,  I  had  my  ambitions,  too.  But  it's 
all  different  now.  Something  in  me  died  when — 
Dick — when — I — oh,  let  Duane  try.  Let  him  do 
his  best.  I  know  it  can't  be  done,  and  if  he  should 
win,  I  would  be  the  first  to  wire  congratulations. 
Lloyd,  I  don't  care.  I've  lost  interest.  I  suppose 
it  is  my  punishment.  I'm  out  of  the  race.  I'm  a 
back  number.  I'm  down." 

Lloyd  shook  her  head. 

"  I  don't — I  can't  believe  you." 

"  Do  you  want  to  see  me  go,"  demanded  Bennett, 
"  after  this  last  experience  ?  Do  you  urge  me  to 
it?" 

Lloyd  turned  her  head  away,  leaning  it  against 
one  of  the  veranda  pillars.  A  sudden  dimness  swam 
in  her  eyes,  the  choking  ache  she  knew  so  well  came 
to  her  throat.  Ah,  life  was  hard  for  her.  The  very 
greatness  of  her  nature  drove  from  her  the  happi- 
ly 


A  Man's  Woman 

ness  so  constantly  attained  by  little  minds,  by  com- 
monplace souls.  When  was  it  to  end,  this  continual 
sacrifice  of  inclination  to  duty,  this  eternal  abnega- 
tion, this  yielding  up  of  herself,  her  dearest,  most 
cherished  wishes  to  the  demands  of  duty  and  the 
great  world  ? 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  want,"  she  said  faintly. 
"  It  don't  seem  as  if  one  could  be  happy — very  long." 

All  at  once  she  moved  close  to  him  and  laid  her 
cheek  upon  the  arm  of  his  chair  and  clasped  his 
hand  in  both  her  own,  murmuring :  "  But  I  have 
you  now,  I  have  you  now,  no  matter  what  is  coming 
to  us." 

A  sense  of  weakness  overcame  her.  What  did 
she  care  that  Bennett  should  fulfil  his  destiny, 
should  round  out  his  career,  should  continue  to  be 
the  Great  Man  ?  It  was  he,  Bennett,  that  she  loved — 
not  his  greatness,  not  his  career.  Let  it  all  go,  let 
ambition  die,  let  others  less  worthy  succeed  in  the 
mighty  task.  What  were  fame  and  honour  and 
glory  and  the  sense  of  a  divinely  appointed  duty 
done  at  last  to  the  clasp  of  his  hand  and  the  sound 
of  his  voice  ? 

In  November  of  that  year  Lloyd  and  Bennett 
were  married.  Two  guests  only  assisted  at  the  cere- 
mony. These  were  Campbell  and  his  little  daughter 
Hattie. 


248 


X. 


The  months  passed;  Christmas  came  and  went. 
Until  then  the  winter  had  been  unusually  mild,  but 
January  set  in  with  a  succession  of  vicious  cold 
snaps  and  great  blustering  winds  out  of  the  north- 
east. Lloyd  and  Bennett  had  elected  to  remain 
quietly  in  their  new  home  at  Medford.  They  had 
no  desire  to  travel,  and  Bennett's  forthcoming  book 
demanded  his  attention.  Adler  stayed  on  about 
the  house.  He  and  the  dog  Kamiska  were  com- 
panions inseparable.  At  long  intervals  visitors  pre- 
sented themselves — Dr.  Street,  or  Pitts,  or  certain 
friends  of  Bennett's.  But  the  great  rush  of  inter- 
viewers, editors,  and  projectors  of  marvellous 
schemes  that  had  crowded  Bennett's  anterooms 
during  the  spring  and  early  summer  was  conspicu- 
ously dwindling.  The  press  ceased  to  speak  of  him ; 
even  his  mail  had  fallen  away.  Now,  whenever  the 
journals  of  the  day  devoted  space  to  arctic  explora- 
tion, it  was  invariably  in  reference  to  the  English 
expedition  wintering  on  the  Greenland  coast.  That 
world  that  had  clamoured  so  loudly  upon  Bennett's 
return,  while,  perhaps,  not  yet  forgetting  him,  was 
already  ignoring  him,  was  looking  in  other  direc- 
tions. Another  man  was  in  the  public  eye. 

But  in  every  sense  these  two — Lloyd  and  Bennett 
— were  out  of  the  world.  They  had  freed  them- 
selves from  the  current  of  affairs.  They  stood  aside 
249 


A  Man's  Woman 

while  the  great  tide  went  careering  past  swift  and 
turbulent,  and  one  of  them  at  least  lacked  even  the 
interest  to  look  on  and  watch  its  progress. 

For  a  time  Lloyd  was  supremely  happy.  Their 
life  was  unbroken,  uneventful.  The  calm,  monoto- 
nous days  of  undisturbed  happiness  to  which  she 
had  looked  forward  were  come  at  last.  Thus  it 
was  always  to  be.  Isolated  and  apart,  she  could 
shut  her  ears  to  the  thunder  of  the  world's  great  tide 
that  somewhere,  off  beyond  the  hills  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  City,  went  swirling  through  its  channels. 
Hardly  an  hour  went  by  that  she  and  Bennett  were 
not  together.  Lloyd  had  transferred  her  stable  to 
her  new  home ;  Lewis  was  added  to  the  number  of 
their  servants,  and  until  Bennett's  old-time  vigour 
completely  returned  to  him  she  drove  out  almost 
daily  with  her  husband,  covering  the  country  for 
miles  around. 

Much  of  their  time,  however,  they  spent  in  Ben- 
nett's study.  This  was  a  great  apartment  in  the 
rear  of  the  house,  scantily,  almost  meanly,  furnished. 
Papers  littered  the  floor;  bundles  of  manuscripts, 
lists,  charts,  and  observations,  the  worn  and  battered 
tin  box  of  records,  note-books,  journals,  tables  of 
logarithms  were  piled  upon  Bennett's  desk.  A 
bookcase  crammed  with  volumes  of  reference, 
statistical  pamphlets,  and  the  like  stood  between  the 
windows,  while  one  of  the  walls  was  nearly  entirely 
occupied  by  a  vast  map  of  the  arctic  circle,  upon 
which  the  course  of  the  Freja,  her  drift  in  the  pack, 
and  the  route  of  the  expedition's  southerly  march 
were  accurately  plotted. 

The  room  was  bare  of  ornament ;  the  desk  and  a 
250 


A  Man's  Woman 

cpuple  of  chairs  were  its  only  furniture.  Pictures 
there  were  none.  Their  places  were  taken  by  photo- 
graphs and  a  great  blue  print  of  the  shipbuilder's 
plans  and  specifications  of  the  Freja. 

The  photographs  were  some  of  those  that  Denni- 
had  made  of  the  expedition — the  Freja  nipped 
in  the  ice,  a  group  of  the  officers  and  crew  upon 
the  forward  deck,  the  coast  of  Wrangel  Island,  Cape 
Kammeni,  peculiar  ice  formations,  views  of  the  pack 
under  different  conditions  and  temperatures,  pres- 
sure-ridges and  scenes  of  the  expedition's  daily  life 
in  the  arctic,  bear-hunts,  the  manufacture  of 
sledges,  dog-teams,  Bennett  taking  soundings  and 
reading  the  wind-gauge,  and  one,  the  last  view  of 
the  Freja,  taken  just  as  the  ship — her  ice-sheathed 
dripping  bows  heaved  high  in  the  air,  the  flag  still  at 
the  peak — sank  from  sight. 

However,  on  the  wall  over  the  blue-print  plans  of 
the  Freja,  one  of  the  boat's  flags,  that  had  been  used 
by  the  expedition  throughout  all  the  time  of  its  stay 
in  the  ice,  hung  suspended — a  faded,  tattered  square 
of  stars  and  bars. 

As  the  new  life  settled  quietly  and  evenly  to  its 
grooves  a  routine  began  to  develop.  About  an 
hour  after  breakfast  Lloyd  and  Bennett  shut  them- 
selves in  Bennett's  "  workroom,"  as  he  called  it, 
Lloyd  taking  her  place  at  the  desk.  She  had  be- 
come his  amanuensis,  had  insisted  upon  writing  to 
his  dictation. 

"  Look  at  that  manuscript,"  she  had  exclaimed 

one    day,    turning    the    sheets    that    Bennett    had 

written ;  "  literally  the  very  worst  handwriting  I 

have  ever  seen.    What  do  you  suppose  a  printer 

251 


A  Man's  Woman 

would  make  out  of  your  '  thes  '  and  '  ands  '  ?  It's 
hieroglyphics,  you  know,"  she  informed  him 
gravely,  nodding  her  head  at  him. 

It  was  quite  true.  Bennett  wrote  with  amazing 
rapidity  and  with  ragged,  vigorous  strokes  of  the 
pen,  not  unfrequently  driving  the  point  through  the 
paper  itself;  his  script  was  pothooks,  clumsy,  slant- 
ing in  all  directions,  all  but  illegible.  In  the  end 
Lloyd  had  almost  pushed  him  from  his  place  at  the 
desk,  taking  the  pen  from  between  his  fingers,  ex- 
claiming: 

"  Get  up !  Give  me  your  chair — and  that  pen. 
Handwriting  like  that  is  nothing  else  but  a  sin." 

Bennett  allowed  her  to  bully  him,  protesting 
merely  for  the  enjoyment  of  squabbling  with  her. 

*'*  Come,  I  like  this.  What  are  you  doing  in  my 
workroom  anyhow,  Mrs.  Bennett?  I  think  you 
had  better  go  to  your  housework." 

"  Don't  talk,"  she  answered.  "  Here  are  your 
notes  and  journal,  ^ow  tell  me  what  to  write." 

In  the  end  matters  adjusted  themselves.  Daily 
Lloyd  took  her  pldce  at  the  desk,  pen  in  hand,  the 
sleeve  of  her  right  \arrn  rolled  back  to  the  elbow  (a 
habit  of  hers  whenever  writing,  and  which  Bennett 
found  to  be  charming  beyond  words),  her  pen  travel- 
ling steadily  from  line  to  line.  He  on  his  part  paced 
the  floor,  a  cigar  between  his  teeth,  his  notes  and 
note-books  in  his  hand,  dictating  comments  of  his 
own,  or  quoting  from  the  pasfes,  stained,  frayed,  and 
crumpled,  written  by  the  lierht  of  the  auroras,  the 
midnight  suns,  or  the  unsteady,  flickering  of  train- 
oil  lanterns  and  blubber-lamps. 

What  long,  delicious  hours  they  spent  thus,  as  the 
252 


A  Man's  Woman 

winter  drew  on,  in  the  absolute  quiet  of  that  country 
house,  ignored  and  lost  in  the  brown,  bare  fields 
and  leafless  orchards  of  the  open  country !  No  one 
troubled  them.  No  one  came  near  them.  They 
asked  nothing  better  than  that  the  world  wherein 
they  once  had  lived,  whose  hurtling  activity  and 
febrile  unrest  they  both  had  known  so  well,  should 
leave  them  alone. 

Only  one  jarring  note,  and  that  none  too  reso- 
nant, broke  the  long  harmony  of  Lloyd's  happiness 
during  these  days.  Bennett  was  deaf  to  it ;  but  for 
Lloyd  it  vibrated  continuously  and,  as  time  passed, 
with  increasing  insistence  and  distinctness.  But  for 
one  person  in  the  world  Lloyd  could  have  told  her- 
self that  her  life  was  without  a  single  element  of 
discontent. 

This  was  Adler.  It  was  not  that  his  presence 
about  the  house  was  a  reproach  to  Bennett's  wife, 
for  the  man  was  scrupulously  unobtrusive.  He  had 
the  instinctive  delicacy  that  one  sometimes  discovers 
in  simple,  undeveloped  natures — seafaring  folk  espe- 
cially— and  though  he  could  not  bring  himself  to 
leave  his  former  chief,  he  had  withdrawn  himself 
more  than  ever  from  notice  since  the  time  of  Ben- 
nett's marriage.  He  rarely  even  waited  on  the  table 
these  days,  for  Lloyd  and  Bennett  often  chose  to 
breakfast  and  dine  quite  to  themselves. 

But,  for  all  that,  Lloyd  saw  Adler  from  time  to 
time,  Kamiska  invariably  at  his  heels.  She  came 
upon  him  polishing  the  brasses  upon  the  door  of 
the  house,  or  binding  strips  of  burlaps  and  sacking 
about  the  rose-bushes  in  the  garden,  or  returning 
from  the  village  post-office  with  the  mail,  invariably 
253 


A  Man's  Woman 

wearing  the  same  woollen  cap,  the  old  pea-jacket, 
and  the  jersey  with  the  name  "  Freja  "  upon  the 
breast.  He  rarely  spoke  to  her  unless  she  first  ad- 
dressed him,  and  then  always  with  a  precise  salute, 
bringing  his  heels  sharply  together,  standing  stiffly 
at  attention. 

But  the  man,  though  all  unwittingly,  radiated 
gloom.  Lloyd  readily  saw  that  Adler  was  labour- 
ing under  a  certain  cloud  of  disappointment  and  de- 
ferred hope.  Naturally  she  understood  the  cause. 
Lloyd  was  too  large-hearted  to  feel  any  irritation  at 
the  sight  of  Adler.  But  she  could  not  regard  him 
with  indifference.  To  her  mind  he  stood  for  all 
that  Bennett  had  given  up,  for  the  great  career  that 
had  stopped  half-way,  for  the  work  half  done,  the 
task  only  half  completed.  In  a  way  was  not  Adler 
now  superior  to  Bennett?  His  one  thought  and 
aim  and  hope  was  to  "  try  again."  His  ambition 
was  yet  alive  a;id  alight;  the  soldier  was  willing 
where  the  chief/lost  heart.  Never  again  had  Adler 
addressed  himslelf  to  Lloyd  on  the  subject  of  Ben- 
nett's inactivity.  Now  he  seemed  to  understand — 
to  realise  that  once  married — and  to  Lloyd — he  must 
no  longer  expect  Bennett  to  continue  the  work. 
All  this  Lloyd  interpreted  from  Adler's  attitude,  and 
again  and  again  told  herself  that  she  could  read  the 
man's  thoughts  aright.  She  even  fancied  she 
caught  a  mute  appeal  in  his  eyes  upon  those  rare 
occasions  when  they  met,  as  though  he  looked  to 
her  as  the  only  hope,  the  only  means  to  wake  Ben- 
nett from  his  lethargy.  She  imagined  that  she 
heard  him  say: 

"  Ain't  you  got  any  influence  with  him,  Miss  ? 
254 


A  Man's  Woman 

Won't  you  talk  good  talk  to  him  ?  Don't  let  him 
chuck.  Make  him  be  a  man,  and  not  a  professor. 
Nothing  else  in  the  world  don't  figure.  It's  his 
work.  God  A'mighty  cut  him  out  for  that,  and 
he's  got  to  do  it." 

His  work,  his  work,  God  made  him  for  that;  ap- 
pointed the  task,  made  the  man,  and  now  she  came--, 
between.  God,  Man,  and  the  Work, — the  three  vast 
elements  of  an  entire  system,  the  whole  universe  : 
epitomised  in  the  tremendous  trinity.  Again  and 
again  such  thoughts  assailed  her.  Duty  once  more 
stirred  and  awoke.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  some 
great  engine  ordained  of  Heaven  to  run  its  ap- 
pointed course  had  come  to  a  standstill,  was  rusting 
to  its  ruin,  and  that  she  alone  of  all  the  world  had 
power  to  grasp  its  lever,  to  send  it  on  its  way; 
whither,  she  did  not  know ;  why,  she  could  not  tell. 
She  knew  only  that  it  was  right  that  she  should  act. 
By  degrees  her  resolution  hardened.  Bennett  must 
try  again.  But  at  first  it  seemed  to  her  as  though 
her  heart  would  break,  and  more  than  once  she 
wavered. 

As  Bennett  continued  to  dictate  to  her  the  story 
of  the  expedition  he  arrived  at  the  account  of  the 
march  toward  Kolyuchin  Bay,  and,  finally,  at  the 
description  of  the  last  week,  with  its  terrors,  its  suf- 
ferings, its  starvation,  its  despair,  when,  one  by  one, 
the  men  died  in  their  sleeping-bags,  to  be  buried 
under  slabs  of  ice.  When  this  point  in  the  narrative 
was  reached  Bennett  inserted  no  comment  of  his 
own;  but  while  Lloyd  wrote,  read  simply  and  with 
grim  directness  from  the  entries  in  his  journal  pre- 
cisely as  they  had  been  written. 
535 


A  Man's  Woman 

Lloyd  had  known  in  a  vague  way  that  the  ex- 
pedition had  suffered  abominably,  but  hitherto  Ben- 
nett had  never  consented  to  tell  her  the  story  in 
detail.  "  It  was  a  hard  week,"  he  informed  her,  "  a 
rather  bad  grind." 

Now,  for  the  first  time,  she  was  to  know  just  what 
had  happened,  just  what  he  had  endured. 

As  usual,  Bennett  paced  the  floor  from  wall  to 
wall,  his  cigar  in  his  teeth,  his  tattered,  grimy  ice- 
journal  in  his  hand.  At  the  desk  Lloyd's  round, 
bare  arm,  the  sleeve  turned  up  to  the  elbow,  moved 
evenly  back  and  forth  as  she  wrote.  In  the  inter- 
vals of  Bennett's  dictation  the  scratching  of  Lloyd's 
pen  made  itself  heard.  A  little  fire  snapped  and 
crackled  on  the  hearth.  The  morning's  sun  came 
flooding  in  at  the  windows. 

" .  .  .  Gale  of  wind  from  the  northeast," 
prompted  Lloyd,  raising  her  head  from  her  writing. 
Bennett  continued : 

Impossible  to  march  against  it  in  our  weakened  condi- 
tion. 

He  paused  for  her  to  complete  the  sentence. 
.    .    .    Must  camp  here  till  it  abates.    .    .    . 

"  Have  you  got  that  ?  "     Lloyd  nodded. 

.  .  .  Made  soup  of  the  last  of  the  dog-meat  this 
afternoon.  .  .  .  Our  last  pemmican  gone. 

There  was  a  pause ;  then  Bennett  resumed : 

December  1st,  Wednesday — Everybody  getting  weaker. 
.  .  .  Metz  breaking  down.  .  .  .  Sent  Adler  to  the 
thore  to  gather  shrimps;  ...  we  had  about  a  mouth- 


A  Man's  Woman 

ful  apiece  at  noon  ;    .     .    .    supper,  a  spoonful  of  glycerine 
and  hot  water. 

Lloyd  put  her  hand  to  her  temple,  smoothing  back 
her  hair,  her  face  turned  away.  As  before,  in  the 
park,  on  that  warm  and  glowing  summer  afternoon, 
a  swift,  clear  vision  of  the  Ice  was  vouchsafed  to 
her.  She  saw  the  coast  of  Kolyuchin  Bay — primor- 
dial desolation,  whirling  dust-like  snow,  the  un- 
leashed wind  yelling  like  a  sabbath  of  witches,  leap- 
ing and  somersaulting  from  rock  to  rock,  folly- 
stricken  and  insensate  in  its  hideous  dance  of  death. 
Bennett  continued.  His  voice  insensibly  lowered 
itself,  a  certain  gravity  of  manner  came  upon  him. 
At  times  he  looked  at  the  written  pages  in  his  hand 
with  vague,  unseeing  eyes.  No  doubt  he,  too,  was 
remembering. 

He  resumed : 

December  2d,  Thursday — Metz  died  during  the  night. 
.  .  .  Hansen  dying.  Still  blowing  a  gale  from  the 
northeast.  ...  A  hard  night. 

Lloyd's  pen  moved  slower  and  slower  as  she 
wrote.  The  lines  of  the  manuscript  began  to  blur 
and  swim  before  her  eyes. 

And  it  was  to  this  that  she  must  send  him.  To 
this  inhuman,  horrible  region ;  to  this  life  of  pro- 
longed suffering,  where  death  came  slowly  through 
days  of  starvation,  exhaustion,  and  agony  hourly 
renewed.  He  must  dare  it  all  again.  She  must 
force  him  to  it.  Her  decision  had  been  taken ;  her 
duty  was  plain  to  her.  Now  it  was  irrevocable. 

.  .  .  Hansen  died  during  early  morning.  .  ,  . 
Dennison  breaking  down.  .  .  . 

17  «57 


A  Man's  Woman 

,  .  .  December  sth — Sunday — Dennison  found  dead 
this  morning  between  Adler  and  myself.  .  .  . 

The  vision  became  plainer,  more  distinct.  She 
fancied  she  saw  the  interior  of  the  tent  and  the 
dwindling  number  of  the  Freja's  survivors  moving 
about  on  their  hands  and  knees  in  its  gloomy  half- 
light.  Their  hair  and  beards  were  long,  their  faces 
black  with  dirt,  monstrously  distended  and  fat  with 
the  bloated  irony  of  starvation.  They  were  no 
longer  men.  After  that  unspeakable  stress  of  mis- 
ery nothing  but  the  animal  remained. 

.  .  .  Too  weak  to  bury  him,  or  even  carry  him  out 
of  the  tent.  ...  He  must  lie  where  he  is.  ... 
Last  spoonful  of  glycerine  and  hot  water.  .  .  .  Divine 
service  at  5:30  P.M.  .  .  . 

Once  more  Lloyd  faltered  in  her  writing;  her 
hand  moved  slower.  Shut  her  teeth  though  she 
might,-  the  sobs  would  come;  swiftly  the  tears 
brimmed  her  eyes,  but  she  tried  to  wink  them  back, 
lest  Bennett  should  see.  Heroically  she  wrote  to 
the  end  of  the  sentence.  A  pause  followed : 

"  Yes — '  divine  services  at ' — I — I " 

The  pen  dropped  from  her  fingers  and  she  sank 
down  upon  her  desk,  her  head  bowed  in  the  hollow 
of  her  bare  arm,  shaken  from  head  to  foot  with  the 
violence  of  the  cruelest  grief  she  had  ever  known. 
Bennett  threw  his  journal  from  him,  and  came  to 
her,  taking  her  in  his  arms,  putting  her  head  upon 
his  shoulder. 

"  Why,  Lloyd,  what  is  it — why,  old  char*  what 
the  devil!  I  was  a  beast  to  read  that  to  you.  It 
258 


A  Man's  Woman 

wasn't  really  as  bad  as  that,  you  know,  and  besides, 
look  here,  look  at  me.  It  all  happened  three  years 
ago.  It's  all  over  with  now." 

Without  raising  her  head,  and  clinging  to  him 
all  the  closer,  Lloyd  answered  brokenly : 

"  No,  no ;  it's  not  all  over.  It  never,  never  will 
be." 

"  Pshaw,  nonsense !  "  Bennett  blustered,  "  you 
must  not  take  it  to  heart  like  this.  We're  going 
to  forget  all  about  it  now.  Here,  damn  the  book, 
anyhow!  We've  had  enough  of  it  to-day.  Put 
your  hat  on.  We'll  have  the  ponies  out  and  drive 
somewhere.  And  to-night  we'll  go  into  town  and 
see  a  show  at  a  theatre." 

"  No,"  protested  Lloyd,  pushing  back  from  him, 
drying  her  eyes.  "  You  shall  not  think  I'm  so  weak. 
We  will  go  on  with  what  we  have  to  do — with  our 
work.  I'm  all  right  now." 

Bennett  marched  her  out  of  the  room  without 
more  ado,  and,  following  her,  closed  and  locked  the 
door  behind  them.  "  We'll  not  write  another  word 
of  that  stuff  to-day.  Get  your  hat  and  things.  I'm 
going  out  to  tell  Lewis  to  put  the  ponies  in." 

But  that  day  marked  a  beginning.  From  that 
time  on  Lloyd  never  faltered,  and  if  there  were  mo- 
ments when  the  iron  bit  deeper  than  usual  into  her 
heart,  Bennett  never  knew  her  pain.  By  degrees 
a  course  of  action  planned  itself  for  her.  A  direct 
appeal  to  Bennett  she  believed  would  not  only  be 
useless,  but  beyond  even  her  heroic  courage.  She 
must  influence  him  indirectly.  The  initiative  must 
appear  to  come  from  him.  It  must  seem  to  him  that 
he,  of  his  own  accord,  roused  his  dormant  resolu- 
259 


A  Man's  Woman 

tion.  It  was  a  situation  that  called  for  all  her 
feminine  tact,  all  her  delicacy,  all  her  instinctive 
diplomacy. 

The  round  of  their  daily  life  was  renewed,  but  now 
there  was  a  change.  It  was  subtle,  illusive,  a  vague, 
indefinite  trouble  in  the  air.  Lloyd  had  addressed 
herself  to  her  task,  and  from  day  to  day,  from  hour 
to  hour,  she  held  to  it,  unseen,  unnoticed.  Now  it 
was  a  remark  dropped  as  if  by  chance  in  the  course 
of  conversation ;  now  an  extract  cut  from  a  news- 
paper or  scientific  journal,  and  left  where  Bennett 
would  find  it;  now  merely  a  look  in  her  eyes,  an 
instant's  significant  glance  when  her  gaze  met  her 
husband's,  or  a  moment's  enthusiasm  over  the  news 
of  some  discovery.  Insensibly  and  with  infinite 
/caution  she  directed  his  attention  to  the  world  he 
/  believed  he  had  abjured ;  she  called  into  being  his 
!  interest  in  his  own  field  of  action,  reading  to  him  by 
\  the  hour  from  the  writings  of  other  men,  or  advanc- 
ing and  championing  theories  which  she  knew  to  be 
false  and  ridiculous,  but  which  she  goaded  him  to 
deny  and  refute. 

One  morning  she  even  feigned  an  exclamation  of 
unbounded  astonishment  as  she  opened  the  news- 
paper while  the  two  were  at  breakfast,  pretending 
to  read  from  imaginary  headlines. 

"Ward,  listen!  'The  Pole  at  Last.  A  Nor- 
wegian Expedition  Solves  the  Mystery  of  the  Arctic. 
The  Goal  Reached  After '  " 

"  What !  "  cried  Bennett  sharply,  his  frown  lower- 
ing. 

"  ' After  Centuries  of  Failure.'  "     Lloyd  put 

down  the  paper  with  a  note  of  laughter. 
260 


A  Man's  Woman 

"  Suppose  you  should  read  it  some  day." 

Bennett  subsided  with  a  good-humoured  growl. 

"  You  did  scare  me  for  a  moment.  I  thought — 
I  thought " 

"  I  did  scare  you  ?  Why  were  you  scared  ? 
What  did  you  think  ?  "  She  leaned  toward  him 
eagerly. 

"  I  thought — well — oh — that  some  other  chap, 
Duane,  perhaps " 

"  He's  still  at  Tasiusak.  But  he  will  succeed,  I 
do  believe.  I've  read  a  great  deal  about  him.  He 
has  energy  and  determination.  If  anybody  succeeds 
it  will  be  Duane." 

"He?     Never!" 

"  Somebody,  then." 

"  You  said  once  that  if  your  husband  couldn't 
nobody  could." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know,"  she  answered  cheerfully. 
"  But  you — you  are  out  of  it  now." 

"  Huh  !  "  he  grumbled.  "  It's  not  because  I  don't 
think  I  could  if  I  wanted  to." 

"  No,  you  could  not,  Ward.     Nobody  can." 

"  But  you  just  said  you  thought  somebody  would 
some  day." 

"  Did  I  ?  Oh,  suppose  you  really  should  one  of 
these  days !  " 

"  And  suppose  I  never  came  back  ?  " 

"  Nonsense !  Of  course  you  would  come  back. 
They  all  do  nowadays." 

"  De  Long  didn't." 

"  But  you  are  not  De  Long." 

And  for  the  rest  of  the  day  Lloyd  noted  with  a 
sinking  heart  that  Bennett  was  unusually  thought- 
261 


A  Man's  Woman 

ful  and  preoccupied.  She  said  nothing,  and  was 
studious  to  avoid  breaking  in  upon  his  reflections, 
whatever  they  might  be.  She  kept  out  of  his  way 
as  much  as  possible,  but  left  upon  his  desk,  as  if  by 
accident,  a  copy  of  a  pamphlet  issued  by  a  geo- 
graphical society,  open  at  an  article  upon  the  future 
of  exploration  within  the  arctic  circle.  At  supper 
that  night  Bennett  suddenly  broke  in  upon  a  rather 
prolonged  silence  with : 

"  It's  all  in  the  ship.  Build  a  ship  strong  enough 
to  withstand  lateral  pressure  of  the  ice  and  the  whole 
thing  becomes  easy." 

Lloyd  yawned  and  stirred  her  tea  indifferently  as 
she  answered: 

"  Yes,  but  you  know  that  can't  be  done." 

Bennett  frowned  thoughtfully,  drumming  upon 
/the  table. 

"  I'll  wager  7  could  build  one." 

"  But  it's  not  the  ship  alone.  It's  the  man.  Whom 
would  you  get  to  command  your  ship  ?  " 

Bennett  stared. 

"  Why,  I  would  take  her,  of  course." 

"  You  ?  You  have  had  your  share — your  chance. 
Now  you  can  afford  to  stay  home  and  finish  your 
book — and — well,  you  might  deliver  lectures." 

"  What  rot,  Lloyd !  Can  you  see  me  posing  on 
a  lecture  platform  ?  " 

"  I  would  rather  see  you  doing  that  than  trying 
to  beat  Duane,  than  getting  into  the  ice  again.  I 
would  rather  see  you  doing  that  than  to  know  that 
you  were  away  up  there — in  the  north,  i-n  the  ice, 
at  your  work  again,  fighting  your  way  toward  the 
Pole,  leading  your  men  and  overcoming  every 
262 


A  Man's  Woman 

obstacle  that  stood  in  your  way,  never  giving  up, 
never  losing  heart,  trying  to  do  the  great,  splendid, 
impossible  thing;  risking  your  life  to  reach  merely 
a  point  on  a  chart.  Yes,  I  would  rather  see  you  on 
a  lecture  platform  than  on  the  deck  of  an  arctic 
steamship.  You  know  that,  Ward." 

He  shot  a  glance  at  her. 

"  I  would  like  to  know  what  you  mean,"  he  mut- 
tered. 

The  winter  went  by,  then  the  spring,  and  by  June 
all  the  country  around  Medford  was  royal  with 
summer.  During  the  last  days  of  May,  Bennett 
practically  had  completed  the  body  of  his  book  and 
now  occupied  himself  with  its  appendix.  There  was 
little  variation  in  their  daily  life.  Adler  became 
more  and  more  of  a  fixture  about  the  place.  In 
the  first  week  of  June,  Lloyd  and  Bennett  had  a 
visitor,  a  guest;  this  was  Hattie  Campbell.  Mr. 
Campbell  was  away  upon  a  business  trip,  and  Lloyd 
had  arranged  to  have  the  little  girl  spend  the  fort- 
night of  his  absence  with  her^t  Medford. 

The  summer  was  delightful.  A  vast,  pervading 
warmth  lay  close  over  all  the  world.  The  trees,  the 
orchards,  the  rose-bushes  in  the  garden  about  the 
house,  all  the  teeming  life  of  trees  and  plants  hung 
motionless  and  poised  in  the  still,  tideless  ocean 
of  the  air.  It  was  very  quiet ;  all  distant  noises,  the 
crowing  of  cocks,  the  persistent  calling  of  robins  and 
jays,  the  sound  of  wheels  upon  the  road,  the  rumble 
of  the  trains  passing  the  station  down  in  the  town, 
seemed  muffled  and  subdued.  The  lon«-,  calm  sum- 
mer davs  succeeded  one  another  in  an  unbroken, 
glimmering  procession.  From  dawn  to  twilight 
263 


A  Man's  Woman 

one  heard  the  faint,  innumerable  murmurs  of  the 
summer,  the  dull  bourdon  of  bees  in  the  rose  and 
lilac  bushes,  the  prolonged,  strident  buzzing  of  blue- 
bottle-flies, the  harsh,  dry  scrape  of  grasshoppers, 
the  stridulating  of  an  occasional  cricket.  In  the 
twilight  and  all  through  the  night  itself  the  frogs 
shrilled  from  the  hedgerows  and  in  the  damp,  north 
corners  of  the  fields,  while  from  the  direction  of  the 
hills  toward  the  east  the  whippoorwills  called  inces- 
santly. During  the  day  the  air  was  full  of  odours, 
distilled  as  it  were  by  the  heat  of  high  noon — the 
sweet  smell  of  ripening  apples,  the  fragrance  of 
warm  sap  and  leaves  and  growing  grass,  the  smell 
of  cows  from  the  nearby  pastures,  the  pungent,  am- 

/moniacal  suggestion  of  the  stable  back  of  the  house, 
and  the  odour  of  scorching  paint  blistering  on  the 
southern  walls. 

July  was  very  hot.  No  breath  of  wind  stirred  the 
vast,  invisible  sea  of  air,  quivering  and  oily  under 
the  vertical  sun.  The  landscape  was  deserted  of 
animated  life ;  there  was  little  stirring  abroad.  In 
the  house  one  kept  within  the  cool,  darkened  rooms 
with  matting  on  the  floors  and  comfortable,  deep 
wicker  chairs,  the  windows  wide  to  the  least  stirring 
of  the  breeze.  Adler  dozed  in  his  canvas  hammock 
slung  between  a  hitching-post  and  a  crab-apple  tree 
in  the  shade  behind  the  stable.  Kamiska  sprawled 
at  full  length  underneath  the  water-trough,  her 
tongue  lolling,  panting  incessantly.  An  immeas- 
urable Sunday  stillness  seemed  to  hang  suspended  in 
the  atmosphere — a  drowsy,  numbing  hush.  There 
was  no  thought  of  the  passing  of  time.  The  day  of 
the  week  was  always  a  matter  of  conjecture.  It 
264 


A  Man's  Woman 

seemed  as  though  this  life  of  heat  and  quiet  and  un- 
broken silence  was  to  last  forever. 

Then  suddenly  there  was  an  alerte.  One  morn- 
ing, a  day  or  so  after  Hattie  Campbell  had  returned 
to  the  City,  just  as  Lloyd  and  Bennett  were  finishing 
their  breakfast  in  the  now  heavily  awninged  glass- 
room,  they  were  surprised  to  see  Adler  running 
down  the  road  toward  the  house,  Kamiska  racing 
on  ahead,  barking  excitedly.  Adler  had  gone  into 
the  town  for  the  mail  and  morning's  paper.  This 
latter  he  held  wide  open  in  his  hand,  and  as  soon  as 
he  caught  sight  of  Lloyd  and  Bennett  waved  it 
about  him,  shouting  as  he  ran. 

Lloyd's  heart  began  to  beat.  There  was  only  one 
thing  that  could  excite  Adler  to  this  degree — the 
English  expedition ;  Adler  had  news  of  it ;  it  was  in 
the  paper.  Duane  had  succeeded ;  had  been  work- 
ing steadily  northward  during  all  these  past  months, 
while  Bennett 

"  Stuck  in  the  ice !  stuck  in  the  ice ! "  shouted  Adler 
as  he  swung  wide  the  front  gate  and  came  hastening 
toward  the  veranda  across  the  lawn.  "  What  did 
we  say !  Hooray !  He's  stuck.  I  knew  it ;  any 
galoot  might  'a'  known  it.  Duane's  stuck  tighter  'n 
a  wedge  off  Bache  Island,  in  Kane  Basin.  Here 
it  all  is ;  read  it  for  yourself." 

Bennett  took  the  paper  from  him  and  read  aloud 
to  the  effect  that  the  Curlew,  accompanied  by  her 
collier,  which  was  to  follow  her  to  the  southerly  limit 
of  Kane  Basin,  had  attempted  the  passage  of  Smith 
Sound  late  in  June.  But  the  season,  as  had  been 
feared,  was  late.  The  enormous  quantities  of  ice 
reported  by  the  whalers  the  previous  year  had  not 
265 


A  Man's  Woman 

debouched  from  the  narrow  channel,  and  on  the  last 
day  of  June  the  Curlew  had  found  her  further 
progress  effectually  blocked.  In  essaying  to  force 
her  way  into  a  lead  the  ice  had  closed  in  behind 
her,  and,  while  not  as  yet  nipped,  the  vessel  was 
immobilised.  There  was  no  hope  that  she  would 
advance  northward  until  the  following  summer.  The 
collier,  which  had  not  been  beset,  had  returned  to 
Tasiusak  with  the  news  of  the  failure. 

"  What  a  galoot !  What  a — a  professor !  "  ex- 
claimed Adler  with  a  vast  disdain.  "  Him  loafing 
at  Tasiusak  waiting  for  open  water,  when  the  Alert 
wintered  in  eighty-two-twenty-four !  Well,  he's 
shelved  for  another  year,  anyhow." 

Later  on,  after  breakfast,  Lloyd  and  Bennett  shut 
themselves  in  Bennett's  workroom,  and  for  upward 
of  three  hours  addressed  themselves  to  the  unfin- 
ished work  of  the  previous  day,  compiling  from 
Bennett's  notes  a  table  of  temperatures  of  the  sea- 
water  taken  at  different  soundings.  Alternating 
with  the  scratching  of  Lloyd's  pen,  Bennett's  voice 
continued  monotonously : 

August  I5th — 2,000  meters  or  1,093  fathoms — minus  .66 
degrees  centigrade  or  30.81  Fahrenheit. 

"  Fahrenheit,"  repeated  Lloyd  as  she  wrote  the 
last  word. 

August  i6th — 1, 600  meters  or  874  fathoms 

"  Eight  hundred  and  seventy-four  fathoms,"  re- 
peated Lloyd  as  Bennett  paused  abstractedlv. 
"Or     .     .     .     he's  in  a  bad  way,  you  know." 
"  What  do  you  mean?  " 
266 


A  Man's  Woman 

"  It's  a  bad  bit  of  navigation  along  there.  The 
Proteus  was  nipped  and  crushed  to  kindling  in 
about  that  same  latitude  .  .  .  h'm "... 
Bennett  tugged  at  his  mustache.  Then,  suddenly, 
as  if  coming  to  himself :  "  Well — these  tempera- 
tures now.  Where  were  we  ?  '  Eight  hundred  and 
seventy-four  fathoms,  minus  forty-six  hundredths 
degrees  centigrade.' " 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day,  just  as  they 
were  finishing  this  table,  there  was  a  knock  at  the 
door.  It  was  Adler,  and  as  Bennett  opened  the 
door  he  saluted  and  handed  him  three  calling-cards. 
Bennett  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise,  and 
Lloyd  turned  about  from  the  desk,  her  pen  poised 
in  the  air  over  the  half-written  sheet. 

"  They  might  have  let  me  know  they  were  com- 
ing," she  heard  Bennett  mutter.  "  What  do  they 
want  ?  " 

"  Guess  they  came  on  that  noon  train,  sir,"  haz- 
arded Adler.  "  They  didn't  say  what  they  wanted, 
just  inquired  for  you." 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  asked  Lloyd,  coming  forward. 

Bennett  read  off  the  names  on  the  cards. 

"Well,  it's  Tremlidge — that's  the  Tremlidge  of 
the  Times ;  he's  the  editor  and  proprietor — and 
Hamilton  Garlock — has  something  to  do  with  that 
new  geographical  society — president,  I  believe — and 
this  one  " — he  handed  her  the  third  card — "  is  a 
friend  of  yours,  Craig  V.  Campbell,  of  the  Hercules 
Wrought  Steel  Company." 

Lloyd  stared.     "  What  can  they  want  ?  "  she  mur- 
mured, looking  up  to  him  from  the  card  in  some 
perplexity.     Bennett  shook  his  head. 
267 


A  Man's  Woman 

"  Tell  them  to  come  up  here,"  he  said  to  Adler. 

Lloyd  hastily  drew  down  her  sleeve  over  her  bare 
arm. 

"  Why  up  here,  Ward  ?  "  she  inquired  abruptly. 

"  Should  we  have  seen  them  downstairs  ?  "  he 
demanded  with  a  frown.  "  I  suppose  so ;  I  didn't 
think.  Don't  go,"  he  added,  putting  a  hr.nd  on  her 
arm  as  she  started  for  the  door.  "  You  might  as 
well  hear  what  they  have  to  say." 

The  visitors  entered,  Adler  holding  open  the  door 
— Campbell,  well  groomed, .  clean-shaven,  and 
gloved  even  in  that  warm  weather;  Tremlidge,  the 
editor  of  one  of  the  greater  daily  papers  of  the  City 
(and  of  the  country  for  the  matter  of  that),  who  wore 
a  monocle  and  carried  a  straw  hat  under  his  arm ; 
and  Garlock,  the  vice-president  of  an  international 
geographical  society,  an  old  man,  with  beautiful 
white  hair  curling  about  his  ears,  a  great  bow 
of  black  silk  knotted  about  his  old-fashioned 
collar.  The  group  presented,  all  unconsciously, 
three  great  and  highly  developed  phases  of  nine- 
teenth-century intelligence — science,  manufactures, 
and  journalism — each  man  of  them  a  master  in  his 
calling. 

When  the  introductions  and  preliminaries  were 
over,  Bennett  took  up  his  position  again  in  front 
of  the  fireplace,  leaning  against  the  mantle,  his 
hands  in  his  pockets.  Lloyd  sat  opposite  to  him  at 
the  desk,  resting  her  elbow  on  the  edge.  Hanging 
against  the  wall  behind  her  was  the  vast  chart  of  the 
arctic  circle.  Tremlidge,  the  editor,  sat  on  the 
bamboo  sofa  near  the  end  of  the  room,  his  elbows 
on  his  knees,  gently  tapping  the  floor  with  the  fer- 
268 


A  Man's  Woman 

rule  of  his  slim  walking-stick ;  Garlock,  the  scientist, 
had  dropped  into  the  depths  of  a  huge  leather  chair 
and  leaned  back  in  it  comfortably,  his  legs  crossed, 
one  boot  swinging  gently;  Campbell  stood  behind 
this  chair,  drumming  on  the  back  occasionally  with 
the  fingers  of  one  hand,  speaking  to  Bennett  over 
Garlock's  shoulder,  and  from  time  to  time  turning 
to  Tremlidge  for  corroboration  and  support  of  what 
he  was  saying. 

Abruptly  the  conference  began. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Bennett,  you  got  our  wire?  "  Camp- 
bell said  by  way  of  commencement. 

Bennett  shook  his  head. 

"  No,"  he  returned  in  some  surprise ;  "  no,  I  got 
no  wire." 

"  That's  strange,"  said  Tremlidge.  "  I  wired 
three  days  ago  asking  for  this  interview.  The  ad- 
dress was  right,  I  think.  I  wired :  '  Care  of  Dr. 
Pitts.'  Isn't  that  right  ?  " 

"  That  probably  accounts  for  it,"  answered  Ben- 
nett. "  This  is  Pitts's  house,  but  he  does  not  live 
here  now.  Your  despatch,  no  doubt,  went  to  his 
office  in  the  City,  and  was  forwarded  to  him.  He's 
away  just  now,  travelling,  I  believe.  But — you're 
here.  That's  the  essential." 

"  Yes,"  murmured  Garlock,  looking  to  Campbell. 
"  We're  here,  and  we  want  to  have  a  talk  with  you." 

Campbell,  who  had  evidently  been  chosen  spokes- 
man, cleared  his  throat. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Bennett,  I  don't  know  just  how  to 
begin,  so  suppose  I  begin  at  the  beginning.  Trem- 
lidge and  I  belong  to  the  same  club  in  the  City,  and 
in  some  way  or  other  we  have  managed  to  see  a 
269 


A  Man's  Woman 

good  deal  of  each  other  during  the  last  half-dozen 
years.  We  find  that  we  have  a  good  deal  in  com- 
mon. I  don't  think  his  editorial  columns  are  for 
sale,  and  he  doesn't  believe  there  are  blow-holes  in 
my  steel  plates.  I  really  do  believe  we  have  certain 
convictions.  Tremlidge  seems  to  have  an  idea  that 
journalism  can  be  clean  and  yet  enterprising,  and 
tries  to  run  his  sheet  accordingly,  and  I  am  afraid 
that  I  would  not  make  a  bid  for  bridge  girders  below 
what  it  would  cost  to  manufacture  them  honestly. 
Tremlidge  and  I  differ  in  politics ;  we  hold  conflict- 
ing views  as  to  municipal  government;  we  attend 
different  churches ;  we  are  at  variance  in  the  matter 
of  public  education,  of  the  tariff,  of  emigration,  and, 
heaven  save  the  mark !  of  capital  and  labour,  but  we 
tell  ourselves  that  we  are  public-spirited  and  are  a 
little  proud  that  God  allowed  us  to  be  born  in  the 
United  States;  also  it  appears  that  we  have  more 
money  than  Henry  George  believes  to  be  right. 
Now,"  continued  Mr.  Campbell,  straightening  him- 
self as  though  he  were  about  to  touch  upon  the  real 
subject  of  his  talk,  "  when  the  news  of  your  return, 
Mr.  Bennett,  was  received,  it  was,  as  of  course  you 
understand,  the  one  topic  of  conversation  in  the 
streets,  the  clubs,  the  newspaper  offices — every- 
where. Tremlidge  and  I  met  at  our  club  at  luncheon 
the  next  week,  and  I  remember  perfectly  well  how 
long  and  how  very  earnestly  we  talked  of  your  work 
and  of  arctic  exploration  in  general. 

"  We  found  out  all  of  a  sudden  that  here  at  last 

was  a  subject  we  were  agreed  upon,  a  subject  in 

which  we  took  an  extraordinary  mutual  interest. 

We  discovered  that  we  had  read  almost  every  ex- 

270 


A  Man's  Woman 

plorer's  book  from  Sir  John  Franklin  down.  We 
knew  all  about  the  different  theories  and  plans  of 
reaching  the  Pole.  We  knew  how  and  why  they 
had  all  failed ;  but,  for  all  that,  we  were  both  of  the 
opinion  "  (Campbell  leaned  forward,  speaking  with 
considerable  energy)  "  that  it  can  be  done,  and  that 
America  ought  to  do  it.  That  would  be  something 
better  than  even  a  World's  Fair. 

"  We  give  out  a  good  deal  of  money,  Tremlidge 
and  I,  every  year  to  public  works  and  one  thing 
or  another.  We  buy  pictures  by  American  artists — 
pictures  that  we  don't  want ;  we  found  a  scholarship 
now  and  then ;  we  contribute  money  to  build  groups 
of  statuary  in  the  park;  we  give  checks  to  the 
finance  committees  of  libraries  and  museums  and 
all  the  rest  of  it,  but,  for  the  lives  of  us,  we  can  feel 
only  a  mild  interest  in  the  pictures  and  statues,  and 
museums  and  colleges,  though  we  go  on  buying 
the  one  and  supporting  the  other,  because  we  think 
that  somehow  it  is  right  for  us  to  do  it.  I'm  afraid 
we  are  men  more  of  action  than  of  art,  literature,  and 
the  like.  Tremlidge  is,  I  know.  He  wants  facts, 
accomplished  results.  When  he  gives  out  his 
money  he  wants  to  see  the  concrete,  substantial 
return — and  I'm  not  sure  that  I  am  not  of  the  same 
way  of  thinking. 

"  Well,  with  this  and  with  that,  and  after  talking 
it  all  over  a  dozen  times — twenty  times — we  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  what  we  would  most  like  to 
aid  financially  would  be  a  successful  attempt  by  an 
American-built  ship,  manned  by  American  seamen, 
led  by  an  American  commander,  to  reach  the  North 
Pole,  We  came  to  be  very  enthusiastic  about  our 
271 


A  Man's  Woman 

idea ;  but  we  want  it  American  from  start  to  finish. 
We  will  start  the  subscription,  and  want  to  head  the 
list  with  our  checks ;  but  we  want  every  bolt  in  that 
ship  forged  in  American  foundries  from  metal  dug 
out  of  American  soil.  We  want  every  plank  in  her 
hull  shaped  from  American  trees,  every  sail  of  her 
woven  by  American  looms,  every  man  of  her  born 
of  American  parents,  and  we  want  it  this  way  be- 
cause we  believe  in  American  manufactures,  because 
we  believe  in  American  shipbuilding,  because  we 
believe  in  American  sailmakers,  and  because  we 
believe  in  the  intelligence  and  pluck  and  endurance 
and  courage  of  the  American  sailor. 

"  Well,"  Campbell  continued,  changing  his  posi- 
tion and  speaking  in  a  quieter  voice,  "  we  did  not 
say  much  to  anybody,  and,  in  fact,  we  never  really 
planned  any  expedition  at  all.  We  merely  talked 
about  its  practical  nature  and  the  desirability  of 
having  it  distinctively  American.  This  was  all  last 
summer.  What  we  wanted  to  do  was  to  make  the 
scheme  a  popular  one.  It  would  not  be  hard  to 
raise  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  from  among  a 
dozen  or  so  men  whom  we  both  know,  and  we  found 
that  we  could  count  upon  the  financial  support  of 
Mr.  Garlock's  society.  That  was  all  very  well,  but 
we  wanted  the  people  to  back  this  enterprise.  We 
would  rather  get  a  thousand  five-dollar  subscriptions 
than  five  of  a  thousand  dollars  each.  When  our 
ship  went  out  we  wanted  her  commander  to  feel, 
not  that  there  were  merely  a  few  millionaires,  who 
had  paid  for  his  equipment  and  his  vessel,  behind 
him,  but  that  he  had  seventy  millions  of  people,  a 
whole  nation,  at  his  back. 

273 


A  Man's  Woman 

"So  Tremlidge  went  to  work  and  telegraphed 
instructions  to  the  Washington  correspondents  of 
his  paper  to  sound  quietly  the  temper  of  as  many 
Congressmen  as  possible  in  the  matter  of  making 
an  appropriation  toward  such  an  expedition.  It 
was  not  so  much  the  money  we  wanted  as  the  sanc- 
tion of  the  United  States.  Anything  that  has  to  do 
with  the  Navy  is  popular  just  at  present.  We  had 
got  a  Congressman  to  introduce  and  father  an 
appropriation  bill,  and  we  could  count  upon  the 
support  of  enough  members  of  both  houses  to  put 
it  through.  We  wanted  Congress  to  appropriate 
twenty  thousand  dollars.  We  hoped  to  raise  an- 
other ten  thousand  dollars  by  popular  subscription. 
Mr.  Garlock  could  assure  us  two  thousand  dollars; 
Tremlidge  would  contribute  twenty  thousand  dol- 
lars in  the  name  of  the  Times,  and  I  pledged  myself 
to  ten  thousand  dollars,  and  promised  to  build  the 
ship's  engines  and  fittings.  We  kept  our  intentions 
to  ourselves,  as  Tremlidge  did  not  want  the  other 
papers  to  get  hold  of  the  story  before  the  Times 
printed  it.  But  we  continued  to  lay  our  wires  at 
Washington.  Everything  was  going  as  smooth  as 
oil ;  we  seemed  sure  of  the  success  of  our  appropria- 
tion bill,  and  it  was  even  to  be  introduced  next  week, 
when  the  news  came  of  the  collapse  of  the  English 
expedition — the  Duane-Parsons  affair. 

"  You  would  have  expected  precisely  an  opposite 
effect,  but  it  has  knocked  our  chances  with  Con- 
gress into  a  cocked  hat.  Our  member,  who  was  to 
father  the  bill,  declared  to  us  that  so  sure  as  it  was 
brought  up  now  it  would  be  killed  in  committee. 
I  went  to  Washington  at  once ;  it  was  this,  and  not, 
18  273 


A  Man's  Woman 

as  you  supposed,  private  business  that  has  taken 
me  away,  i  saw  our  member  and  Tremlidge's  head 
correspondent.  It  was  absolutely  no  use.  These 
rnen  who  have  their  finger  upon  the  Congressional 
pulse  were  all  of  the  same  opinion.  It  would  be 
useless  to  try  to  put  through  our  bill  at  present. 
Our  member  said  '  Wait ; '  all  Tremlidge's  men  said 
'  Wait — wait  for  another  year,  until  this  English 
expedition  and  its  failure  are  forgotten,  and  then 
try  again.'  But  we  don't  want  to  wait.  Suppose 
Duane  is  blocked  for  the  present.  He  has  a  tremen- 
dous start.  He's  on  the  ground.  By  next  summer 
the  chances  are  the  ice  will  have  so  broken  up  as  to 
permit  him  to  push  ahead,  and  by  the  time  our  bill 
gets  through  and  our  ship  built  and  launched  he 
may  be — heaven  knows  where,  right  up  to  the  Pole, 
perhaps.  No,  we  can't  afford  to  give  England  such 
long  odds.  We  want  to  lay  the  keel  of  our  ship 
as  soon  as  we  can — next  week,  if  possible ;  we've  got 
the  balance  of  the  summer  and  all  the  winter  to  pre- 
pare in,  and  a  year  from  this  month  we  want  our 
American  expedition  to  be  inside  the  polar  circle, 
to  be  up  with  Duane,  and  at  least  to  break  even  with 
England.  If  we  can  do  that  we're  not  afraid  of  the 
result,  provided,"  continued  Mr.  Campbell,  "  pro- 
vided you,  Mr.  Bennett,  are  in  command.  If  you 
consent  to  make  the  attempt,  only  one  point  remains 
to  be  settled.  Congress  has  failed  us.  We  will 
give  up  the  idea  of  an  appropriation.  Now,  then, 
and  this  is  particularly  what  we  want  to  consult 
you  about,  how  are  we  going  to  raise  the  twenty 
thousand  dollars?" 
Lloyd  rose  to  her  feet. 

274 


A  Man's  Woman 

"  You  may  draw  on  me  for  the  amount,"  she  said 
quietly. 

Garlock  uncrossed  his  legs  and  sat  up  abruptly 
in  the  deep-seated  chair.  Tremlidge  screwed  his 
monocle  into  his  eye  and  stared,  while  Campbell 
turned  about  sharply  at  the  sound  of  Lloyd's  voice 
with  a  murmur  of  astonishment.  Bennett  alone  did 
not  move.  As  before,  he  leaned  heavily  against  the 
mantelpiece,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his  head  and 
his  huge  shoulders  a  little  bent.  Only  from  under 
his  thick,  knotted  frown  he  shot  a  swift  glance 
toward  his  wife.  Lloyd  paid  no  attention  to  the 
others.  After  that  one  quiet  movement  that  had 
brought  her  to  her  feet  she  remained  motionless 
and  erect,  her  hands  hanging  straight  at  her  sides, 
the  colour  slowly  mounting  to  her  cheeks.  She  met 
Bennett's  glance  and  held  it  steadily,  calmly,  look- 
ing straight  into  his  eyes.  She  said  no  word,  but  all 
her  love  for  him,  all  her  hopes  of  him,  all  the  fine, 
strong  resolve  that,  come  what  would,  his  career 
should  not  be  broken,  his  ambition  should  not  faint 
through  any  weakness  of  hers,  all  her  eager  sym- 
pathy for  his  great  work,  all  her  strong,  womanly 
encouragement  for  him  to  accomplish  his  destiny 
spoke  to  him,  and  called  to  him  in  that  long,  earnest 
look  of  her  dull-blue  eyes.  Now  she  was  no  longer 
weak ;  now  she  could  face  the  dreary  consequences 
that,  for  her,  must  follow  the  rousing  of  his  dormant 
energy;  now  was  no  longer  the  time  for  indirect 
appeal ;  the  screen  was  down  between  them.  More 
eloquent  than  anv  spoken  words  was  the  calm, 
steady  gaze  in  which  she  held  his  own. 

There  was  a  long  silence  while  husband  and 
275 


A  Man's  Woman 

wife  stood  looking  deep  into  each  other's  eyes. 
And  then,  as  a  certain  slow  kindling  took  place 
in  his  look,  Lloyd  saw  that  at  last  Bennett  under- 
stood. 

After  that  the  conference  broke  up  rapidly. 
Campbell,  as  the  head  and  spokesman  of  the  com- 
mittee, noted  the  long,  significant  glance  that  had 
passed  between  Bennett  and  Lloyd,  and,  perhaps, 
vaguely  divined  that  he  had  touched  upon  a  matter 
of  a  particularly  delicate  and  intimate  nature. 
Something  was  in  the  air,  something  was  passing 
between  husband  and  wife  in  which  the  outside 
world  had  no  concern — something  not  meant  for 
him  to  see.  He  brought  the  interview  to  an  end  as 
quickly  as  possible.  He  begged  of  Bennett  to  con- 
sider this  talk  as  a  mere  preliminary — a  breaking  of 
the  ground.  He  would  give  Bennett  time  to  think 
it  over.  Speaking  for  himself  and  the  others,  he 
was  deeply  impressed  with  that  generous  offer  to 
meet  the  unexpected  deficiency,  but  it  had  been 
made  upon  the  spur  of  the  moment.  No  doubt 
Mr.  Bennett  and  his  wife  would  wish  to  talk  it  over 
between  themselves,  to  consider  the  whole  matter. 
The  committee  temporarily  had  its  headquarters  in 
his  (Campbell's)  offices.  He  left  Bennett  the  ad- 
dress. He  would  await  his  decision  and  answer 
there. 

When  the  conference  ended  Bennett  accompanied 
the  members  of  the  committee  downstairs  and  to  the 
front  door  of  the  house.  The  three  had.  with  thnnks 
and  excuses,  declined  all  invitations  to  dine  at  Med- 
ford  with  Bennevt  and  his  wife.  They  could  con- 
veniently catch  the  next  train  back  to  the  City; 
276 


A  Man's  Woman 

Campbell  and  Tremlidge  were  in  a  hurry  to  return 
to  their  respective  businesses. 

The  front  gate  closed.  Bennett  was  left  alone. 
He  shut  the  front  door  of  the  house,  and  for  an 
mstant  stood  leaning  against  it,  his  small  eyes 
twinkling  under  his  frown,  his  glance  straying  aim- 
lessly about  amid  the  familiar  objects  of  the  hall- 
way and  adjoining  rooms.  He  was  thoughtful,  per- 
turbed, tugging  slowly  at  the  ends  of  his  mustache. 
Slowly  he  ascended  the  stairs,  gaining  the  landing 
on  the  second  floor  and  going  on  toward  the  half- 
open  door  of  the  "  workroom  "  he  had  just  quitted. 
Lloyd  was  uppermost  in  his  mind.  He  wanted  her, 
his  wife,  and  that  at  once.  He  was  conscious  that 
a  great  thing  had  suddenly  transpired ;  that  all  the 
calm  and  infinitely  happy  life  of  the  last  year  was 
ruthlessly  broken  up ;  but  in  his  mind  there  was 
nothing  more  definite,  nothing  stronger  than  the 
thought  of  his  wife  and  the  desire  for  her  compan- 
ionship and  advice. 

He  came  into  the  "  workroom,"  closing  the  door 
behind  him  with  his  heel,  his  hands  deep  in  his 
pockets.  Lloyd  was  still  there,  standing  opposite 
him  as  he  entered.  She  hardly  seemed  to  have 
moved  while  he  had  been  gone.  They  did  not  im- 
mediately speak.  Once  more  their  eyes  met.  Then 
at  length : 

"Well,  Lloyd?" 

"Well,  my  husband?" 

Bennett  was  about  to  answer — what,  he  hardly 
knew ;  but  at  that  moment  there  was  a  diversion. 

The  old  boat's  flag,  the  tattered  little  square  of 
faded  stars  and  bars  that  had  been  used  to  mark  the 
277 


A  Man's  Woman 

line  of  many  a  weary  march,  had  been  hanging,  as 
usual,  over  the  blue-print  plans  of  the  Freja  on  the 
wail  opposite  the  window.  Inadequately  fixed  in 
its  place,  the  jar  of  the  closing  door  as  Bennett  shut 
it  behind  him  dislodged  it,  and  it  fell  to  the  floor 
close  beside  him. 

He  stooped  and  picked  it  up,  and,  holding  it  in  his 
hand,  turned  toward  the  spot  whence  it  had  fallen. 
He  cast  a  glance  at  the  wall  above  the  plans  of  the 
Freja,  about  to  replace  it,  willing  for  the  instant  to 
defer  the  momentous  words  he  felt  must  soon  be 
spoken,  willing  to  put  off  the  inevitable  a  few 
seconds  longer. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  muttered,  looking  from  the 
flag  to  the  empty  wall-spaces  about  the  room ;  "  I 
don't  know  just  where  to  put  this.  Do  you " 

"  Don't  you  know  ?  "  interrupted  Lloyd  suddenly, 
her  blue  eyes  all  alight. 

"  No,"  said  Bennett ;  "  I " 

Lloyd  caught  the  flag  from  his  hands  and,  with 
one  great  sweep  of  her  arm,  drove  its  steel-shod 
shaft  full  into  the  centre  of  the  great  chart  of  the 
polar  region,  into  the  innermost  concentric  circle 
where  the  Pole  was  marked. 

"  Put  that  flag  there !  "  she  cried. 


XI. 


That  particular  day  in  the  last  week  in  April  was 
sombre  and  somewhat  chilly,  but  there  was  little 
wind.  The  water  of  the  harbour  lay  smooth  as  a 
sheet  of  tightly  stretched  gray  silk.  Overhead  the 
sea-fog  drifted  gradually  landward,  descending,  as  it 
drifted,  till  the  outlines  of  the  City  grew  blurred  and 
indistinct,  resolving  to  a  dim,  vast  mass,  rugged 
with  high-shouldered  office  buildings  and  bulging, 
balloon-like  domes,  confused  and  mysterious  under 
the  cloak  of  the  fog.  In  the  nearer  foreground, 
along  the  lines  of  the  wharves  and  docks,  a  wilder- 
ness of  masts  and  spars  of  a  tone  just  darker  than 
the  gray  of  the  mist  stood  away  from  the  blur  of  the 
background  with  the  distinctness  and  delicacy  of 
frost-work. 

But  amid  all  this  grayness  of  sky  and  water  and 
fog  one  distinguished  certain  black  and  shifting- 
masses.  They  outlined  every  wharf,  they  banked 
every  dock,  every  quay.  Every  small  and  inconse- 
quent jetty  had  its  fringe  of  black.  Even  the  roofs 
of  the  buildings  along  the  water-front  were  crested 
with  the  same  dull-coloured  mass. 

It  was  the  People,  the  crowd,  rank  upon  rank, 
close-packed,  expectant,  thron<nnsr  there  tino"  the 
Citv's  edge,  swelling  in  size  wifh  t1""1  1i»>c~  ^f  ™-nrv 
minute,  vast,  conglomerate,  rest1  ess.  anrl  «-1-— .w'-o- 
off  into  the  stillness  of  the  quiet  gray  air  a  pro- 
279 


A  Man's  Woman 

longed,  indefinite  murmur,  a  monotonous  minor 
note. 

The  surface  of  the  bay  was  dotted  over  with  all 
manner  of  craft  black  with  people.  Rowboats, 
perilously  overcrowded,  were  everywhere.  Ferry- 
boats and  excursion  steamers,  chartered  for  that 
day,  heeled  over  almost  to  the  water's  edge  with  the 
unsteady  weight  of  their  passengers.  Tugboats 
passed  up  and  down  similarly  crowded  and  display- 
ing the  flags  of  various  journals  and  news  organisa- 
tions— the  News,  the  Press,  the  Times,  and  the 
Associated  Press.  Private  yachts,  trim  and  very 
graceful  and  gleaming  with  brass  and  varnish, 
slipped  by  with  scarcely  a  ripple  to  mark  their 
progress,  while  full  in  the  centre  of  the  bay,  gigantic, 
solid,  formidable,  her  grim,  silent  guns  thrusting 
their  snouts  from  her  turrets,  a  great,  white  battle- 
ship rode  motionless  to  her  anchor. 

An  hour  passed ;  noon  came.  At  long  intervals 
a  faint  seaward  breeze  compressed  the  fog,  and 
high,  sad-coloured  clouds  and  a  fine  and  penetrating 
rain  came  drizzling  down.  The  crowds  along  the 
wharves  grew  denser  and  blacker.  The  numbers  of 
yachts,  boats,  and  steamers  increased ;  even  the 
yards  and  masts  of  the  merchant-ships  were  dotted 
over  with  watchers. 

Then,  at  length,  from  far  up  the  bay  there  came 
a  faint,  a  barely  perceptible,  droning  sound,  the 
sound  of  distant  shouting.  Instantly  the  crowds 
were  a1ert,  and  a  quick,  surging  movement  rinnled 
from  end  to  end  of  the  thron?  alongf  the  water-front. 
Its  subdued  murmur  rose  in  pitch  upon  the  second. 
Like  a  flock  of  agitated  gulls,  the  boats  in  the  har- 
280 


A  Man's  Woman 

bour  stirred  nimbly  from  place  to  place ;  a  belated 
newspaper  tug  tore  by,  headed  for  the  upper  bay, 
smoking  fiercely,  the  water  boiling  from  her  bows. 
From  the  battleship  came  the  tap  of  a  drum.  The 
excursion  steamers  and  chartered  ferryboats  moved 
to  points  of  vantage  and  took  position,  occasionally 
feeling  the  water  with  their  paddles. 

The  distant,  droning  sound  drew  gradually  nearer, 
swelling  in  volume,  and  by  degrees  splitting  into 
innumerable  component  parts.  One  began  to  dis- 
tinguish the  various  notes  that  contributed  to  its 
volume — a  sharp,  quick  volley  of  inarticulate  shouts 
or  a  cadenced  cheer  or  a  hoarse  salvo  of  steam 
whistles.  Bells  began  to  ring  in  different  quarters 
of  the  City. 

Then  all  at  once  the  advancing  wave  of  sound 
swept  down  like  the  rush  of  a  great  storm.  A  roar 
as  of  the  unchained  wind  leaped  upward  from  those 
banked  and  crowding  masses.  It  swelled  louder 
and  louder,  deafening,  inarticulate.  A  vast  bellow 
of  exultation  split  the  gray,  low-hanging  heavens. 
Erect  plumes  of  steam  shot  upward  from  the  ferry 
and  excursion  boats,  but  the  noise  of  their  whistles 
was  lost  and  drowned  in  the  reverberation  of  that 
mighty  and  prolonged  clamour.  But  suddenly  the 
indeterminate  thunder  was  pierced  and  dominated 
by  a  sharp  and  deep-toned  report,  and  a  jet  of  white 
smoke  shot  out  from  the  flanks  of  the  battleship. 
Her  guns  had  spoken.  Instantly  and  from  another 
quarter  of  her  hull  came  another  jet  of  white  smoke, 
stabbed  through  with  its  thin,  yellow  flash,  and 
another  abrupt  clap  of  thunder  shook  the  windows 
of  the  City. 

281 


A  Man's  Woman 

The  boats  that  all  the  morning  had  been  moving 
toward  the  upper  bay  were  returning.  They  came 
slowly,  a  veritable  fleet,  steaming  down  the  bay, 
headed  for  the  open  sea,  beyond  the  entrance  of  the 
harbour,  each  crowded  and  careening  to  the  very 
gunwales,  each  whistling  with  might  and  main. 

And  in  their  midst — the  storm-centre  round  which 
this  tempest  of  acclamation  surged,  the  object  on 
which  so  many  eyes  were  focussed,  the  hope  of  an 
entire  nation — one  ship. 

She  was  small  and  seemingly  pitifully  inadequate 
for  the  great  adventure  on  which  she  was  bound; 
her  lines  were  short  and  ungraceful.  From  her 
clumsy  iron-shod  bow  to  her  high,  round  stern, 
from  her  bulging  sides  to  the  summit  of  her  short, 
powerful  masts  there  was  scant  beauty  in  her.  She 
was  broad,  blunt,  evidently  slow  in  her  movements, 
and  in  the  smooth  waters  of  the  bay  seemed  out  of 
her  element.  But,  for  all  that,  she  imparted  an  im- 
pression of  compactness,  the  compactness  of  things 
dwarfed  and  stunted.  Vast,  indeed,  would  be  the 
force  that  would  crush  those  bulging  flanks,  so  cun- 
ningly built,  moreover,  that  the  ship  must  slip  and 
rise  to  any  too  great  lateral  pressure.  Far  above 
her  waist  rose  her  smokestack.  Overhead  upon 
the  mainmast  was  affixed  the  crow's  nest.  Whale- 
boats  and  cutters  swung  from  her  davits,  while  all 
her  decks  were  cumbered  with  barrels,  with  crates, 
with  boxes  and  strangely  shaped  bales  and  cases. 

She  drew  nearer,  continuing  that  slow,  proud 
progress  down  the  bay,  honoured  as  no  visiting 
sovereign  had  ever  been.  The  great  white  man-of- 
war  dressed  ship  as  she  passed,  and  the  ensign  at 
282 


A  Man's  Woman 

her  fighting-top  dipped  and  rose  again.  At  once 
there  was  a  movement  aboard  the  little  outbound 
ship;  one  of  her  crew  ran  aft  and  hauled  sharply 
at  the  halyards,  and  then  at  her  peak  there  was 
broken  out  not  the  brilliant  tri-coloured  banner,  gay 
and  brave  and  clean,  but  a  little  length  of  bunting, 
tattered  and  soiled,  a  faded  breadth  of  stars  and  bars, 
a  veritable  battle-flag,  eloquent  of  strenuous  en- 
deavour, of  fighting  without  quarter,  and  of  hardship 
borne  without  flinching  and  without  complaining. 

The  ship  with  her  crowding  escorts  held  onward. 
By  degrees  the  City  was  passed;  the  bay  narrowed 
oceanwards  little  by  little.  The  throng  of  people, 
the  boom  of  cannon,  and  the  noise  of  shouting 
dropped  astern.  One  by  one  the  boats  of  the  escort- 
ing squadron  halted,  drew  off,  and,  turning  with  a 
parting  blast  of  their  whistles,  headed  back  to  the 
City.  Only  the  larger,  heavier  steamers  and  the 
seagoing  tugs  still  kept  on  their  way.  On  either 
shore  of  the  bay  the  houses  began  to  dwindle,  giving 
place  to  open  fields,  brown  and  sear  under  the  scud- 
ding sea-fog,  for  now  a  wind  was  building  up  from 
out  the  east,  and  the  surface  of  the  bay  had  begun 
to  ruffle. 

Half  a  mile  farther  on  the  slow,  huge,  ground- 
swells  began  to  come  in;  a  lighthouse  was  passed. 
Full  in  view,  on  ahead,  stretched  the  open,  empty 
waste  of  ocean.  Another  steamer  turned  back, 
then  another,  then  another,  then  the  last  of  the  news- 
paper tugs.  The  fleet,  reduced  now  to  half  a  dozen 
craft,  ploughed  on  through  and  over  the  ground- 
swells,  the  ship  they  were  escorting  leading  the  way, 
her  ragged  little  ensign  straining  stiff  in  the  ocean 
283 


A  Man's  Woman 

wind.  At  the  entrance  of  the  bay,  where  the  enclos- 
ing shores  drew  together  and  trailed  off  to  surf- 
beaten  sand-spits,  three  more  of  the  escort  halted, 
and,  unwilling  to  face  the  tumbling  expanse  of  the 
ocean,  bleak  and  gray,  turned  homeward.  Then 
just  beyond  the  bar  two  more  of  the  remaining  boats 
fell  off  and  headed  Cityward;  a  third  immediately 
did  likewise.  The  outbound  ship  was  left  with  only 
one  companion. 

But  that  one,  a  sturdy  little  sea-going  tug,  held 
close,  close  to  the  flank  of  the  departing  vessel, 
keeping  even  pace  with  her  and  lying  alongside  as 
nearly  as  she  dared,  for  the  fog  had  begun  to  thicken, 
and  distant  objects  were  shut  from  sight  by  occa- 
sional drifting  patches. 

On  board  the  tug  there  was  but  one  passenger — a 
woman.  She  stood  upon  the  forward  deck,  holding 
to  a  stanchion  with  one  strong,  white  hand,  the 
strands  of  her  bronze-red  hair  whipping  across  her 
face,  the  salt  spray  damp  upon  her  cheeks.  She  was 
dressed  in  a  long,  brown  ulster,  its  cape  flying  from 
her  shoulders  as  the  wind  lifted  it.  Small  as  was 
the  outgoing  ship,  the  tug  was  still  smaller,  and  its 
single  passenger  had  to  raise  her  eyes  above  her  to 
see  the  figure  of  a  man  upon  the  bridge  of  the  ship, 
a  tall,  heavily  built  figure,  buttoned  from  heel  to 
chin  in  a  greatcoat,  who  stood  there  gripping  the 
rail  of  the  bridge  with  one  hand,  and  from  time  to 
time  giving  an  order  to  his  sailing-master,  who 
stood  in  the  centre  of  the  bridge  before  the  compass 
and  electric  indicator. 

Between  the  man  upon  the  bridge  and  the  woman 
on  the  forward  deck  of  the  tug  there  was  from  time 


A  Man's  Woman 

to  time  a  little  conversation.  They  called  to  one 
another  above  the  throbbing  of  the  engines  and  the 
wash  of  the  sea  alongside,  and  in  the  sound  of  their 
voices  there  was  a  note  of  attempted  cheerfulness. 
Practically  they  were  alone,  with  the  exception  of 
the  sailing-master  on  the  bridge.  The  crew  of  the 
ship  were  nowhere  in  sight.  On  the  tug  no  one  but 
the  woman  was  to  be  seen.  All  around  them 
stretched  the  fog-ridden  sea. 

Then  at  last,  in  answer  to  a  question  from  the 
man  on  the  bridge,  the  woman  said : 

"  Yes— I  think  I  had  better." 

An  order  was  given.  The  tug's  bell  rang  in  her 
engine-room,  and  the  engine  slowed  and  stopped. 
For  some  time  the  tug  continued  her  headway, 
ranging  alongside  the  ship  as  before.  Then  she 
began  to  fall  behind,  at  first  slowly,  then  with  in- 
creasing swiftness.  The  outbound  ship  continued 
on  her  way,  and  between  the  two  the  water  widened 
and  widened.  But  the  fog  was  thick;  in  another 
moment  the  two  would  be  shut  out  from  each  other's 
sight.  The  moment  of  separation  was  come. 

Then  Lloyd,  standing  alone  on  that  heaving  deck, 
drew  herself  up  to  her  full  height,  her  head  a  little 
back,  her  blue  eyes  all  alight,  a  smile  upon  her  lips. 
She  spoke  no  word.  She  made  no  gesture,  but 
stood  there,  the  smile  yet  upon  her  lips,  erect,  firm, 
motionless ;  looking  steadily,  calmly,  proudly  into 
Bennett's  eyes  as  his  ship  carried  him  farther  and 
farther  away. 

Suddenly  the  fog  shut  down.  The  two  vessels 
were  shut  from  each  other's  sight. 

As  Bennett  stood  leaning  upon  the  rail  of  the 
285 


A  Man's  Woman 

bridge  behind  him,  his  hands  deep  in  the  pockets 
of  his  greatcoat,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  visible  strip 
of  water  just  ahead  of  his  ship's  prow,  the  sailing- 
master,  Adler,  approached  and  saluted. 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir,"  he  said,  "  we're  just  clear  of 
the  last  buoy ;  what's  our  course  now,  sir  ?  " 

Bennett  glanced  at  the  chart  that  Adler  held  and 
then  at  the  compass  affixed  to  the  rail  of  the  bridge 
close  at  hand.  Quietly  he  answered : 

"  Due  north." 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


JUN 


4WKJAN10199I 

ID-URL 


JUN 161994 

4WKAUG081994 

4WKAPR  03 


995 


